


Wane

by thegeekgene



Series: Wane [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Divergence, Dissociation, Endgame Pairing Tagged, Frottage, M/M, Mental Health problems, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Fantasies, Trauma, touch starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-07-03 15:38:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 70,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15821877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegeekgene/pseuds/thegeekgene
Summary: Traumatized teenagers make decisions informed by their trauma. They aren't good decisions.





	1. Chapter 1

He still thinks about it, sometimes. Every time, if he's honest, standing on the platform, when the way is clear and he has nothing else to look at. It's not so bad in the morning – there's a crowd, then. He can get lost, not look, be on the train before he has a chance to consider alternative uses for the tracks.

But he does think about it. He fixates on it.

He's stood frozen on the platform for too-long minutes, laughed it off – high pitched, anxious, unconvincing – cited “woolgathering” to more than one station attendant, like that's even something a human would ever say. He always wonders if they know and feels the shame bubble up thick and hot when he thinks they probably do.

He knew.

He saw it in Suzui's eyes, each time he called her, as surely as he saw it on the roof in the moments before release, as surely as he sees it when he chances past a window that reflects his own face, then and now.

It's easier when he's got other things to do. The Thieves help with that. It was easier still when he had someone else to be, another identity to crawl inside of and curl up in, someone else to handle things while he waited out the tremors and the ache. The Thieves had helped with that, too, given him a new role to play, a new Yuuki to be, and if this new Yuuki was maybe not great, maybe chewed off his nails and cuticles and any other skin he could catch between his teeth, maybe bled his own fingertips like he hadn't since middle school, and if he talked too much about the wrong things rather than too little about the right ones, and if he'd decided his own weakness was characteristic of human nature rather than the aberration he's always assumed – well, in short, if his new identity was nothing more than a redraw on catastrophic personal failings of equivalent number and value, at least he wasn't throwing himself in front of the trains. He should have, maybe, but he didn't.

He should, though.

He gets caught in a loop, these days, of duty and desire. He is aware, on some level, that what he perceives as his duty changes depending on arbitrary factors like weather and digestion and the topic of the day's class lecture, but whatever level that is isn't the one these discussions take place on.

His duty is to atone, he thinks, on some days, and seek justice in this world, to do anything in his limited power to balance against the worst of his crimes, even if he can never hope to be forgiven.

His duty is to repent, he thinks, on other days, and pay with his body and blood and the very breath in his lungs for every word that ever passed his lips on Kamoshida's behalf.

He thinks of Suzui, on each day, with a complex mix of elation (she's alive, she's alive, we didn't destroy her, she's alive) and blackest envy, still stewing in his heart from the moment his eyes found her form on the school roof. It's irrational to be envious when she's still alive, when she's not the one in need of repentance – but, in that moment, she escaped.

In all his years of staring at train tracks, Yuuki still hasn't managed.

 

Kurusu puts a hand on his shoulder, one day. It's afternoon, late afternoon, past the rush, and the platform is emptier than it should be. Yuuki has been standing here for – a while. He zoned out, again. He didn't even know Kurusu was there, couldn't process anything but the rumbling of the trains, the roll of the wheels, metal slicing through air, devouring tracks. The new sensory input of Kurusu's hand, firm where there had been nothing before, is sudden and confusing, and his gaze flickers left, captures a visual confirmation of the source's identity, and is sucked back in, again. He can't make his mouth move, or maybe he doesn't want to.

Kurusu says, “Mishima?”

And then, “Yuuki?”

Yuuki doesn't know how much time passes between those two words. Seconds, maybe? Too many.

“Mm, hey,” he says. It sounds thick to his own ears, and far away. “Hey, Kurusu-kun.” He tries again, finds he can turn his head, but not actually look at Kurusu. It's not a matter of eye contact – he can't look at him at all. “What's up?” he says, and hopes they haven't completed a request. (Is there a request open right now? There usually is, isn't there? But when's the last time they talked about it? The knowledge is there, but Yuuki can't access it.)

“Nothing much, right now,” he says. His hand is still on Yuuki's shoulder. “You alright?”

Yuuki chokes. That's hilarious. It's the funniest thing he's heard all day. He's not sure if that was laughter he was choking on but he's glad it didn't make it out.

“Oh, you know,” he says. “Same as ever.”

This is true. Yuuki now is the same as he ever is, even if most of the time he's more able to ignore the truth of what he is and feign a more complete personhood. He's having some trouble, right now, focus shattered by urges battling it out on the platform, but they're all him.

“Okay,” Kurusu says. “Is that why you haven't moved in half an hour?”

Yuuki blinks. He still doesn't look at Kurusu, but his head tilts. He can't think of anything to say, feels only emptiness where words should be.

“Some station attendants were talking about 'that kid, again'. They mentioned a Shujin uniform.” He pauses like he's waiting for a response. Yuuki doesn't have one. Kurusu shifts his weight, gets closer without moving his feet and his hand shifts with it so his arm can curl around Yuuki's shoulders, grip too firm to be casual. Their sides are flush together and Yuuki ducks his head, eyes gently shut against reality of Kurusu beside him.

This isn't want he wants. It might be his duty to atone, to help the Thieves and work for justice, but he wants something else, today.

I wish you'd let me die, he thinks, to Kurusu, to the world, as strong fingers curl around his bicep.

“They were talking about contacting the school,” Kurusu says, into a silence that feels heavier than before, “if this keeps up.”

“Shit,” Yuuki says, and feels himself slump further, cold lead settling in his gut, weighing him down. Kurusu holds him tighter, closer, and Yuuki opens his eyes to see the flashing signal for an approaching train. He thinks, somehow, that this is his only real chance to jump, and that if he doesn't do it now he'll never get another shot. Fear melds with longing in his brain and blood and he wants, he wants – 

But Kurusu is there, arm tight around his tense shoulders, other hand now curled around his wrist. His thumb and fingers meet, a shackle that keeps Yuuki in the land of the living as the train pulls to a stop in front of them.

Moment lost, Yuuki watches strangers board and disembark. He's empty, again.

Kurusu moves, turns just enough that his forehead presses to Yuuki's hair, and his voice is audible, however soft, when he speaks beside his ear. He's still holding onto Yuuki's wrist.

“I told them I was your friend,” he says, and he sounds sad, now, breath warm as tears on Yuuki's skin. “And that I didn't know it was this bad. I said I'd take you home. Yuuki.” Kurusu's hand leaves his wrist, touches his face, instead. Yuuki blinks, finds himself looking at Kurusu for the first time since he arrived. “Will you come with me?” he asks. His eyes are so wide.

Yuuki drops his head, again, this time onto Kurusu's shoulder, and a hand comes to rest gently in his hair.

“Yuuki?” he says, and the sadness in his voice is now shot through with fear. “Come with me? Please?”

Yuuki can't talk, still, has lost track of every word he ever possessed, perhaps spilled them along with his blood in one of his thousand fantasy leaps onto the tracks. But he can move, he realizes, just enough, so he curls his fingers into the front of Kurusu's blazer and nods. He doesn't open his eyes again until they're both safe inside the train, and Kurusu keeps hold of him all the time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always been like this.

Kurusu brings Yuuki to Leblanc. That should surprise him, he thinks, but he's not feeling much of anything, now. He's never been here but he's heard about it, mostly from Sakamoto, and in overheard fragments between Kurusu and Takamaki. 

(Sakamoto had given Yuuki an awkward precis of the situation 'to save Kurusu the trouble' but the way he said 'trouble' sounded a lot more like 'discomfort' so Yuuki just nodded and said thanks and never by word or deed acknowledged Kurusu even had a home life again.)

The owner – Boss, he recalls – nods at them as they pass, he thinks, but his face burns when he feels eyes on him and he fixes his gaze on the floor. It's always been most comfortable there. Kurusu slows at the end of the bar, arm still around Yuuki's shoulders. He hasn't let go for longer than it took to get them through the turnstiles at the station, and when he stops now, his other hand touches Yuuki's wrist, again, like a signal he's supposed to understand.

“Has Ann been by?” Kurusu asks.

“Futaba called,” replies a voice that must be Boss. “She's got your cat.”

This apparent nonsequitor must be a satisfactory response, because Kurusu's touch leaves his wrist and he draws Yuuki forward, again, past the bathroom and towards a flight of stairs leading up. The arm around Yuuki loosens, slips down, and Yuuki finds himself moving up ahead of Kurusu, aware, perhaps by some half-perceived motion in his periphery, of his hand still hovering in the air between them.

“Sorry I don't have a door,” Kurusu tells him. It's the first thing he's said to Yuuki since Shibuya, other than 'this way' and 'here' at irregular intervals, as he directed Yuuki's steps.

“It's okay,” says Yuuki, a little vague. He stops a few steps into the room, looks around with his eyes while the bulk of his consciousness nests somewhere much deeper inside. He won't retain much of what he sees; none of the details. “Sakamoto said it used to be a storage room.”

Kurusu is beside him, hand light against his back. Yuuki thinks he's probably looking at him but doesn't know what to do with that. Or with any of this. What is he supposed to be doing, now?

“When did he say that?” Kurusu asks.

“Mm, a while back?” says Yuuki. He feels a brief tug, something like muscle memory, a conditioned response urging him to explain himself more fully. He can't put together a true summary but throws out, “He didn't want me asking a bunch of dumb shit, I think.” Hopefully that's enough.

There's a pause.

“I see,” says Kurusu. And then, “Yuuki? Could you – come here a second?”

“Hm?” Yuuki tilts his head, doesn't quite look up, doesn't resist when the hand on his back edges further around, again, and then he's being drawn in. “Uh?” he says, as Kurusu hugs him. “Oh!”

Kurusu's arm curls snug around his shoulders as the other nestles in the minor dip of his waist and he registers the heat burning in his face the instant before he registers that he's _smaller_ than Kurusu, not just shorter, and it's strange but it's warm and he has a place to hide his face so he closes his eyes and does; presses his face into Kurusu's shoulder, into the crook of his neck, snuggles him, really, and it's embarrassing, or maybe it just should be, but he's felt so unpleasantly weightless, untethered, disconnected, that now all he wants is to _burrow_ and to be someplace substantial, where he won't dissipate. Kurusu's arms are a heavy presence, tightening around him and Kurusu himself is solid, immovable as the earth, holding onto him, somehow, when Yuuki feels like nothing but void, empty and cold as the vacuum of space on the inside, his bruisable flesh the only substance he has left.

“ – scared,” Kurusu is saying. “I was so scared.”

“Nn – what?” Yuuki says, and Kurusu loosens his grip, pulls back enough for their eyes to meet, and, dazed yet present, Yuuki allows it. Kurusu's are wide, shockingly bright, shining with an urgency Yuuki can't comprehend.

“I didn't know Suzui,” he says, a nonsequitor but not. “I talked to her once but I didn't – but I _know_ you. And I might not have.”

Yuuki shakes his head, tries to clear it. “What?” he says, again. Kurusu is still touching him.

“I might _not_ have.” Repetition doesn't make the point any clearer. Kurusu keeps going. “At the station, the attendant said you'd been doing this for months. Months. That they stop you, that she would have called Shujin ages ago but she saw everything on the news and didn't trust the school to do anything so she just – talked to the others who are on duty with her I guess? And they stop you, but that scares the shit out of me, Yuuki, that you've been doing this for so long a station attendant conspiracy has formed to protect you and _I didn't know about it_. That I could have lost you months ago. That I could have – that you would have died like that and I wouldn't have known.”

Yuuki is lost in the rising pitch of Kurusu's voice, in the tremor of his hands against his arms, distressed and baffled in equal measure.

“But – why would you have?” he asked, then backtracks, restates. “I mean – you'd have heard about it. They'd have announced it, I think. I'm pretty sure. At school.”

Or maybe not. The news would have picked it up, though. He was on the volleyball team. Ohya would probably write a follow up.

(Yuuki can't process that thing with the station attendants, right now. He might not be able to process that ever. He puts it aside.)

“I wouldn't have just – I probably wouldn't just _vanish_.” Strange, but he's never thought much about how news of his death might spread. Maybe because he'd much rather just vanish, have never have existed at all; maybe because he'd never thought of it as news.

Kurusu's fingers flex, digging into his biceps, then loosen enough to fist in his shirt sleeves instead. He takes a breath.

“That isn't – That's not the point, Yuuki.”

Yuuki tries to recall if he's ever heard his given name this many times in one day, before; possibly it's never happened, and it's startling every time Kurusu says it.

“The point isn't that – The point is – It's that – It's – ” Kurusu trails off, makes a soft sound of frustration, and then Kurusu is moving closer, again. Yuuki closes his eyes, goes tense, a reflex, and can't help a flinch when he feels something brush his face. A half-second later he registers that it's Kurusu's hair, and he's being gently hugged, again.

“The point is you're hurting,” Kurusu says, and his voice is so, so soft. Yuuki's breath catches in his throat and he holds it there, waiting, as he goes on. “The point is, you're _hurt_. You've been feeling like this for god knows how long and you want to fucking die and I've been hanging out with you for months and I didn't _know_. I should have. I should have known. I should have paid more attention, I'm so sorry, Yuuki, god, I'm so sorry – ”

He keeps going, mumbling apologies and self-recrimination and hugs Yuuki tighter. Yuuki takes a moment to compose himself, baffled and embarrassed, hiding again.

“Kurusu,” he tries, shaky with nerves, with confusion. He presses his forehead into Kurusu's shoulder, eyes closed. “Kurusu,” he says, again. “Come on. Please. . .” He blinks, feels a tear trip from his eyelashes. “Hey,” he tries. “It's okay. I'm okay.”

“But you're _not_ ,” Kurusu says.

“But I am _am_.” Yuuki pushes back, puts an arms length of space between them. It's surprising, still, to find Kurusu is crying. He hugs himself, looks away. He doesn't know what to do. He never knows what to do, his continued existence is a source of confusion and discontent, but this is a special kind of baffling. He looks up at Kurusu again, sees he's taken off his glasses, is wiping his eyes with his sleeve. As Yuuki watches, another tear slips out.

Crying. Kurusu is crying. Crying – for what? For him? For something he hasn't done? He decides to do what he's been doing for the better part of a year, now, and ignore everything he can't understand.

“This is just – what it's like,” he tries. “It's always been like this. I've always – It's not a big deal.”

Something in Kurusu's face changes, a shift in the wrong direction. More color rises in his cheeks as he slips his glasses back on, and his mouth goes tight, turns further down.

“Always,” he says, almost too quiet to hear, like he's trying the word out for the first time, seeing how it fits in his mouth. Then, “You've always what?”

Yuuki shrugs, helpless, drops his hands to bury them in his pockets, then hugs himself, again. “I've always – felt like this, I guess. It's not new. So it's not like – It's not something you need to worry about.”

“How long,” Kurusu asks, “is always?”

Yuuki thinks about it. It wasn't always trains. Mostly, since he got old enough to take them by himself, but not always. There have been times he's been distracted by knives, by deep water, by firearms. He had a robe with a cloth belt, when he was a kid, and he'd loop it around his doorknob and stare at it, at night, when his room was dark and his parents were having one of their eternal dinner parties, or when they weren't. He was pretty small, then, he thinks. The robe was gone by the time he started middle school.

“Always,” he says, again. It's the only answer he's got.

Kurusu looks weak, all of a sudden, and tired. One of his hands lifts, as if to reach out, then jerks back. He pushes it through his own hair, instead, a slow, exhausted gesture.

“I don't know how to say this.” He shoves both hands into his pockets. “Not in a way that will make sense to you. But that doesn't make it seem like _less_ of a problem.”

Yuuki's fingers twist into his own shirt.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh. Sorry?”

Kurusu closes his eyes as if in pain, then opens them again. He's not crying and begging forgiveness, anymore, but he's still not the Kurusu that Yuuki is used to. The Kurusu he knows from school and diner and a half dozen other places, calm and confidant, never faltering or blinking, no matter where they were or what kind of bullshit Yuuki was spewing. He looks softer, smaller, now, in this room that is truly his, with dried tears on his face and Yuuki knows anxiety and exhaustion well enough to see a frisson of the former crackling uncomfortable beneath a heavy veil of the latter. He doesn't know what to do about that.

Kurusu's phone chimes in the silence between them and he fumbles for it, face contorted in what looks almost like pain. Yuuki turns away, welcomes the reprieve. He takes a few steps closer to the window and sees full dark outside. He wonders about the time but doesn't bother to check. It doesn't matter, anyway.

“I should head out,” he says.

“What?” Kurusu sounds startled. Yuuki turns his head enough to see him staring, ignoring the phone still in his hand. There's another, softer chime, the default tone of a new message in an open thread, but Kurusu doesn't seem to notice. “What are you talking about?”

On some level that feels separate from wherever he actually is, Yuuki thinks he's never seen Kurusu this rattled – or rattled at all, really. He's not sure he's ever seen him emote.

“I was just thinking it's getting late,” he says. He can feel himself taking steps back from this, moving away without going anywhere. “And you've probably got – stuff to do, or whatever, so I'll get going. Thank for – uh – thanks,” he adds, because it seems like the find of thing he should be saying, right now. “But you really don't need to worry. I'll be fine.”

Kurusu stares at him.

“I was actually hoping you'd stay here, tonight,” he says, after a pause so long it makes Yuuki's skin crawl. This proclamation makes him want to rip it all off.

“What?” he says. “Why?”

Kurusu shoves his phone back in his pocket and crosses his arms. “Honestly?” he says. “Because I'm petrified you're going to go kill yourself as soon as you leave.”

Yuuki feels himself blink, and be still, separate from where he exists, peering out from someplace dark and flat. The flatness has begun to tilt, every so slightly. It's odd, is all, he thinks. It's so odd to hear someone else talk about his suicide. Talk like it might be a bad thing. He's used to his own ruminations and the occasional (or not so occasional) bit of encouragement from middle school bullies or bitter ex-teammates or assholes online or (of course, can't forget, no one will let him) Kamoshida. He can't quite recall any voice that has argued against it.

“I – won't?” he says, unbalanced.

“Can you promise me that?”

This has never happened before; if it had, he might have been able to lie. He looks away, instead.

After a long moment, Kurusu sighs.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds almost as miserable as Yuuki would feel, if he could feel anything but the ice in his veins. “That's what I thought.”

 

Kurusu puts him on the couch and heads down the stairs. He touches Yuuki's shoulder but if he says anything else, it doesn't process. Once he's gone, Yuuki has the presence of mind to take his shoes off before curling up, knees against his chest, hands in his hair, making himself small. He looks down, unfocused, into the shadows cast by his body, then closes his eyes. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he ignores it, takes slow, deep breaths, instead. He remembers, but doesn't like remembering, doing this with Suzui, her hand on his back, grounding him as he breathed through the pain, doing the same in return on other days. They never talked much, when they were huddled in the nurse's office with Tanaka or Midori, but benign touch made it easier.

He ignores the second message and the third, but can't ignore the sudden buzz and shrill digital shrieking that's all his fogged brain can make of his ringtone. He fumbles into his pocket by muscle memory, squirming for the proper angle to drag it out, and answers with a baffled, “Hello?” realizing as he does that he's forgotten to check the screen and has no idea who's calling. He cringes, tenses, prepares to hang up.

“Mishima?” The voice at the other end is loud and he knows it, knows it as someone safe, or as safe as anyone can be, but he can't piece that information together into anything more specific. “Mishima, dude, are you okay, your phone is like grafted to your fingers, you can't just be not texting back right now, where the eff are you?”

“I'm – Leblanc?” Yuuki said, because contained within that explosion of noise was a direct question, answerable with empirical fact, and he can supply that. Transmitting information is his thing. “I'm at Leblanc,” he says, again, because it sounded like a question the first time.

“Akira got you?” says his interlocutor. “'Course he did, man, Ann said he texted and he got you but I wanted – I _had_ to be _sure_ , you know? 'Cause fuck, Yuuki, you can't do this to me, you absolutely cannot do this to me. It scared the shit out of me when Ann called and I just – ”

“Wait,” Yuuki says, and shoves his forehead down hard into his knees, grips his hair tight in his free hand. His given name, again, right there, for all the world to hear, and he can't think about that right now. He says, “Just. Wait. Sakamoto. I don't – ” He cuts off, breathless, huffs in quick through his nose and forces out more words. “What are you talking about?”

There's a pause. It's brief, a few seconds, maybe, but Yuuki's heart is pounding and he still can't breath.

Sakamoto speaks. “Hey, don't go anywhere, 'kay? I'm on my way.”

Yuuki's heart jerks, a painful wrenching, and his phone drops from suddenly nerveless fingers. He shoves them into his hair, fists them tight, pulling, ragged nails scratching his scalp, teeth digging into his knees, screwed-shut eyes stinging, and everything hurts and he can't breath at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuki isn't 'up to' anything, right now, up to and including his own existence and he wishes, again, that he'd jumped – today or any of the other hundred days he's spent standing around, wasting air and opportunity.

The next time Yuuki is consciously aware of his surroundings, he's on Kurusu's bed, sitting at the foot with his back against the wall, legs folded, arms curled around his stomach. The window is open and he turns into the breeze, eyes closed, lets it cool his flushed face. He's too hot, feels a dampness on his cheeks he's disinclined to investigate, and when he swallows it's followed by a cough.

He's thirsty.

He opens his eyes, blinks a few times, and finds them dry and sore, as well. Absently, he begins to sift through the silent wreckage of his mind.

He remembers the panic attack, remembers crying a lot. Remembers jolting away from Kurusu so hard he fell off the couch. He said he needed air, at some point, but most of their conversation – if it can be called that – is foggy.

He wonders if he fell asleep.

“Yuuki?”

Kurusu is sitting on the couch. He has a book in his hands. Yuuki had seen, if not quite noticed, him when he first became aware, again, so the broken silence isn't as jarring as it might have been. He clears his throat.

“Yeah,” he says. “Uh. Hey. Sorry about that.” His arms tighten around himself. It's a defensive position. He wonders if Kurusu has ever had broken ribs.

“Kinda?” Kurusu says. Yuuki glances over and sees his brows are furrowed, confused and concerned. “Why?”

Ah. Said that out loud. What kind of answer is 'kinda'? Yuuki shrugs and looks away. “Random thought,” he says. “I'm not all there, yet. It's fine.”

When Kurusu says, “Okay,” it doesn't sound like he really thinks it's okay, but he does drop the subject. “Are you feeling any better?”

Yuuki shrugs again. “I guess. It's supposed to be good to do that every once in a while. Cathartic, or something. Guess I was due.” He smiles. It feels weak even to himself. “Sorry you had to see it.”

“No,” Kurusu says, voice firm enough that Yuuki's eyes flick over before moving away again. He knows not looking does nothing to make _him_ less visible but this way he doesn't have to see the expression on Kurusu's face. It's easier, this way, to pretend this is all okay.

“No,” Kurusu says, again, more softly. “I'm glad. I'm glad you weren't alone.”

Yuuki shifts where he sits, shrugs a bit, doesn't say he'd rather have been. It's embarrassing enough when he's the only one who knows about this and having a witness around makes it all feel too real. The silence drags, after that. Yuuki has nothing to say and Kurusu isn't saying anything but a flicker of self-awareness in the back of Yuuki's head tells him that he should keep his wits about him, and to do that he'll need an anchor, something to keep him in the moment. All he can think to do is talk.

“So, uh. What time is it?”

“A little past eleven,” Kurusu says, flicking a glance at his watch. “You were out for about an hour.”

Yuuki nods, doesn't bother trying to get a grip on his own chronology. There's no telling how long he cried, how long he panicked, how long he was standing on the platform to begin with. He wishes he'd just jumped. The thought cuts through the remaining fog like a knife and he can taste his own bitterness on his tongue, swirling with the acid of cowardice. He should have just _fucking_ jumped.

“Yuuki?” Kurusu says.

He gives a grunt of acknowledgment, tense again.

“Ryuji is downstairs.”

Yuuki doesn't bother being surprised. “He said something about that. I'm kinda shocked he's not already up here screaming at me.”

“He's not going to – He didn't come here to scream at you.” Kurusu sounds faintly appalled and Yuuki doesn't respond. He heard Sakamoto, earlier. He knows the score. Kurusu says, “Are you up to seeing him?”

Yuuki isn't 'up to' anything, right now, up to and including his own existence and he wishes, again, that he'd jumped – today or any of the other hundred days he's spent standing around, wasting air and opportunity. He can see himself, almost feel the impact of his body against steel rails that will bite in here and here, bruises that won't have time to form, blood meant to spill before it has time to puddle under his skin.

“Yuuki?”

Yuuki drops his hand back to his lap, pretends he hadn't had his wrist in his mouth, been biting down hard.

“It's fine,” he says. “I mean, he came all the way here. I'm fine.”

Kurusu's eyes on him say he thinks this is not a good lie. Yuuki sighs.

“It's fine,” he says, again, because, well, it probably is, and this is what he gets for being a coward. Kurusu doesn't say anything, doesn't move, and Yuuki feels a stab of annoyance – with him for not understanding, and with himself for not being understood.

“I'm not dead,” he says, “so I'll live through whatever he says to me.”

That doesn't seem to make Kurusu any happier but he finally nods and – picks up his phone? It had been lying by the ancient television and Kurusu taps briefly at the screen before putting it down again. Faintly, Yuuki hears the jangle of an in-coming message from downstairs – Sakamoto's is one of the generic, pre-programmed ones, but not the default, loud bells in a clock tower – and then footsteps, hard, fast, and getting closer. Sakamoto bursts up the stairs, a mass of tense, sparking energy, eyes huge and wild as they land first on Akira, then the desk, and then on Yuuki himself. He's made it to the middle of the room by then and he freezes there, as if stunned. His mouth is half-open, too-wide eyes red-rimmed and Yuuki is not sure if any of them are breathing at all.

Then, Sakamoto says, “Yuuki,” and it's like all the fight goes out of him, leaving nothing but fear in its wake. “Yuuki,” he says, again, and half-staggers towards him. Yuuki tenses, shrinks back when his knees hit the mattress, but there's nowhere to go and then he's on him, hands clutching his shoulders, leaning in too close as he asks, _“Why didn't you tell me?”_

Sakamoto sounds weak and wrecked, like something inside of him has shattered, and Yuuki squirms in his grip.

“Tell you what?” he says, unable to look away from the paleness of his face, from his eyes, bloodshot at this distance, and the redness of friction around his nose. Has Sakamoto been _crying_? The question is so distracting he hardly notices that this conversation has already happened.

“That you – that this – that you _felt_ like this,” Sakamoto says. His fingertips are digging into Yuuki's shoulders. “That you were – that you want – that you – ”

He sputters off into nothing and Yuuki's face burns even as he finds himself glaring. He shoves at Sakamoto's chest, hard enough he nearly topples backwards from the bed, catching himself with a squawk. Yuuki takes the opportunity to sit up straight and folds his arms tight across his chest.

“That I want to kill myself?” he snaps, as Sakamoto recovers enough to look back at him with wide, wounded eyes. “Why _would_ have told you? It's not any of your business.”

Sakamoto looks, briefly, as if Yuuki has slapped him but then he rears up, fists clenched in front of him, glaring back at Yuuki just as hard.

“Like hell it isn't,” he says. “We're friends, asshole, and it sure as shit is my business when one of my friends wants to _off himself_.”

“Friends,” Yuuki says, tone slick with bitterness, even to his own ears. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Dragging me around behind you when Kurusu's got other stuff to do is friendship. If that helps you sleep at night, have at it, but it doesn't give you the right to interrogate me about shit you know nothing about.”

“I – _what?_ ” Sakamoto flails, then jabs a finger towards the couch, where Yuuki supposes Kurusu still is, though his peripheral vision has gone murky and vague. “So he's allowed and I'm not? What the _fuck_ , man?”

“I'm not happy with him, either!”

“Have you ever been happy about anything?”

“Of course I haven't!”

The words hang in the space between them, floating up with a heaviness and coalescing into sticky clouds about the rafters. Yuuki is aware he's said something of significance, knows he's just made the single plainest declaration of his own worthless misery that he could possibly imagine. If they won't get off his case now he's gonna have to try tracking down a real gun.

“Do you get it, now?” he says, when neither of them have spoken for a few too-long moments. “I can't be – I've been okay, sometimes. It's been _less_ bad. But it's not – I've never – I don't even know how to be happy, okay? I'd probably think I was stroking out, if it ever happened.” He scowls at Kurusu, who's biting his lip, the paperback in his hands bowing under the force of his grip. Sakamoto's eyes are massive, fixed unblinking on Yuuki until he swings around towards the couch and pounds a fist on the bed.

“What the hell, Akira,” he says. “I don't – What the fuck are we even supposed to do, here?”

Kurusu is still looking at Yuuki, uncertain but steady. His teeth and hands release, and his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip as he reaches up to twist long fingers into his hair.

“I think,” he says, “that we leave this here, for now.”

Yuuki opens his mouth as Sakamoto stiffens and Kurusu's hand leaves his hair, waving them both quiet.

“Yuuki,” he says. “You've been dealing with this for a long time. And I know we can't just – fix it. But I at least don't want you to deal alone anymore. And Ryuji – We don't – We really don't know shit about this. And it's late and we're all tired and emotional. So I just think – It would be better if we all chilled out a little and got some sleep. Are you staying over?”

“Uh, duh?” says Sakamoto. “I told my mom I probably would and like fuck am I leaving, now.”

“Do you need something to sleep in?” He looks at both of them, now. “You can borrow my stuff.” Yuuki averts his eyes, frowning hard at his knees. “Please?” Kurusu adds, and his voice is so _soft_. It's too soft. Yuuki frowns harder.

“Fine,” he says, and, when he looks up, again, Kurusu has the gall to be smiling.

 

Kurusu gives Yuuki the bed and offers Sakamoto the couch. Yuuki doesn't hear whatever conversation comes after that, already on his way down the stairs to change into the night clothes Kurusu loaned him. He considers smashing the bathroom mirror and going at his wrists with the shards but his heart's not in it and even if they somehow didn't hear him, bleeding out would take too long; they'd come looking.

When he gets back, he finds Sakamoto's apparently volunteered to take the floor and is dropping a spare pillow barely a foot away from the bed. Yuuki glares at it.

“If I step on you on my way to pee,” he says, “it's your own fault.”

“And if you step on me on your way anywhere else,” Sakamoto snaps back, “I'll know about it.”

Yuuki looks over at Kurusu, who's over by the storage shelves, slipping a case onto another pillow.

“Are you gonna spend the night camped out on the stairs?” he asks.

Kurusu tosses the pillow towards the couch and misses. He doesn't seem to care.

“I'm a light sleeper,” he says, and walks towards Yuuki. “The couch is fine.”

Yuuki can't look at him, anymore, and scowls at his own toes, instead. They're bare and they look too small, peeking from under the pooling hem of his borrowed sweatpants. Kurusu's feet appear in his line of sight, inches from his own.

“What do you think I'm going to do?” Yuuki asks, arms folded tight across his chest, again. “The trains aren't even running.”

He heard Kurusu's breath catch and allows himself a moment of grim satisfaction before his face flushes with shame. He turns his head, squeezes his eyes shut, can't stand to even know Kurusu exists, right now, so he misses the hand lifting towards him and flinches at the first brush of fingers against his cheek. There's a pause in which neither of them breath. Yuuki doesn't move away and, after a long moment, two hands are against his face, coaxing it up. He keeps his eyes closed.

“I want to keep you safe,” Kurusu says, and his voice is soft, again, like fleece. Hearing it hurts. “You are safe, here.”

“I have _never_ been _safe_ , Kurusu,” Yuuki tells him, and Kurusu pulls him into another hug. Yuuki goes with it, drops his arms to his sides and leans into him. He's pissed off but he's also tired and sad and, well, he doesn't get many opportunities for hugs. He can't afford to turn them down.

“You're safe, tonight,” Kurusu says. “I'll _keep_ you safe.”

Yuuki huffs, then sighs. Kurusu's body heat, and the weight of his arms around him, conspire to table his hurt, for now, leaving space for exhaustion to flood his body, weigh down his limbs.

“I'm tired,” he says.

The sound Kurusu makes, then, isn't a laugh.

“Good thing we're going to sleep then,” he says, and leaves one arm around Yuuki to guide him over to the bed. Sakamoto is still there, sitting on the floor with his phone out. He's messaging someone. He looks up when they come over but doesn't speak, a frown on his face that borders on thoughtful. Yuuki ignores it and climbs into bed.

“Good night,” he says and drags the blanket up and over him. He doesn't care, anymore. He's too tired, on too many levels and in too many ways, to care at all.

“Good night, Yuuki,” he hears Kurusu say.

“Yeah,” adds Sakamoto. “I mean – 'night.”

After a minute or two – no words, just shuffling feet and rustling blankets – the light beyond his eyelids clicks off and he hears them say 'good night', again, this time to one another. The couch creaks on the other side of the room and there's silence, then, but for their breathing.

Silence.

Darkness.

It feels good, now, to be quiet and still. Tension leaks from him, loosening his shoulders, softening his spine, and he lays still. This was what he wanted. This was all he ever really wanted. The quiet and the dark and to be still inside of it, forever.


	4. Chapter 4

Yuuki wakes up with a cat on him. This, in itself, isn't unusual. Ami-chan sleeps with him at night, usually sharing the pillow, but setting on his chest or the minor dip of his waist often enough that it's a familiar feeling, to blink awake and lie still for as long as he can manage, locked away in his own room with his own cat's weight holding him there.

But this, he knows without opening his eyes, is not his room, and so it stands to reason that it's not his cat.

“Morgana,” he says, after a few moments' thought. “When did you get here?”

The cat meows. This doesn't actually provide him with any useful information but he thinks it might have told Kurusu something more. Yuuki's still not sure what the deal is with this cat.

“I can't understand you,” he says. “But I'm gonna assume you said something informative.”

He's on his left side, squinting out at the dusty daylight now filling the attic. It's empty now, of everyone but him. The quality of the light indicates that he is hopelessly late for school and he supposes Kurusu left Morgana to watch him, or perhaps watch over him. The two have very different connotations and he doesn't really care which is correct.

He shifts and says, “Get off.”

Morgana gets off but stays close, sitting upright and staring as Yuuki sits up. Yuuki runs a hand through his hair and locks eyes with the cat, who does a excellent job of expressing determination for a creature with minimal capacity for facial expression. Given this, and what he knows of Kurusu, Yuuki considers what kind of behavior he might expect of his spirit animal.

(The cat has something to do with the Thieves. Yuuki knows this. He's sketchy on what that 'something' might be and leans back and forth between 'independent sentient creature' and 'actual psychic extension of Kurusu, somehow'. Neither would be surprising, at this point.)

“Are you going to follow me if I leave?” he asks.

Morgana meows, again. Unhelpful.

“I still can't understand you,” he says. “Just nod or shake your head or something.”

The meow that follows sounds somehow derogatory but Morgana nods. Yuuki sighs.

“Awesome,” he says. “My very own prison warden. Just what I always wanted.”

Morgana hisses, then yowls. Definitely derogatory.

“Ami-chan is cuter than you,” he says, then snags his phone from the windowsill, ignoring the next hiss. It's nicely low stress, saying whatever he wants and knowing his conversational partner can understand but not retaliate.

Ignoring Morgana, now, he unlocks the phone and skims his notifications. The usual stack of Phan Site posts, no missed calls, a text from Kurusu, and another text from an unknown number. He opens the latter first and is duly informed that the Phantom Thief Alibaba has the cafe downstairs under surveillance and will be taking the liberty of informing Kurusu if he goes anywhere.

“Well, that's not creepy,” he says, and sends back a thumbs up emoji before flipping over to Kurusu's message.

**sorry for leaving you,** it says. **you didn't wake up so we figured you were wiped. boss will feed you if you go down. hope i'll see you when i get back but i get it if you want to leave. rest well.**

Yuuki eyes the message, dubious. Then, he clicks over to screenshot Alibaba's message, snaps a picture of the still-staring Morgana, and sends Kurusu both images. He doesn't bother with a caption.

This done, he drops his phone down into the sheets and considers his options. He's taking a sick day, that much is obvious. But what to do with it? Hopping a train someplace he won't have to deal with this is appealing but not feasible. Heading home isn't an option, either – not until sunset, anyway, no matter how nice being quiet and still in his own dark place sounds.

Quiet and still is itself an option, though. He's not at school and not at home. He could just sleep. That sounds pretty great, honestly, but Morgana is still eyeing him and he really has to pee. Peeing means going downstairs and if he just went down then darted back up again it might look weird to Boss. (The last thing Yuuki needs is more _looks_.) So he might as well eat. He hasn't since – he hasn't. And it's free food. Yuuki doesn't turn down free food.

The pajama pants Kurusu loaned him are too long – of course they are – but fit through the hips; the shirt, though, is straight up too big. Luckily, he's never broken the habit of carrying spare t-shirts in his school bag. There's a brownish stain on the collar of this one but it's mostly on the inside – nothing noticeable. He changes into it and shoves his sneakers onto his bare feet then heads down.

There are only a couple of customers – an elderly couple in a booth near the stairs – and Boss, behind the counter. He's leaning over a crossword puzzle, pen dropped alongside in favor of a cigarette. He glances up when Yuuki appears but doesn't say anything and Yuuki seals himself hastily in the bathroom, face flushing with frustrated shame.

There's nothing wrong with him. He just doesn't want to exist. There are plenty of people like that; they just mostly don't have quite so many pressing reasons to go through with it.

_Duty_ , he thinks, as he washes his hands. _Justice._ Aren't the Thieves supposed to be all about justice? Yuuki should just do them the favor. It's not their fault, especially not if it's all him and nobody knows who he is, anyway. There shouldn't even be any negative press.

He splashes water on his face and sighs.

Kurusu should mind his own business.

Yuuki steps back out into the cafe. Boss is gone from the counter, crossword abandoned in its place, but he can hear the soft metallic clanks of a restaurant kitchen. He moves towards the counter and chooses a seat near the end, furthest from the television and thus the elderly customers. The move puts him uncomfortably close to the door but it can't be helped; he won't risk human contact.

As he settles in, elbows braced on the counter, Boss emerges from the back, carrying a plate of something, which he deposits right in front of Yuuki. Yuuki startles, blinks down at the plate – it's curry – then up at Boss. “Um?” he says.

“You're the kid's friend,” Boss says. “He asked me to feed you.”

“Oh.” Yuuki feels his face heat up and contract with shame. “Thank you.”

“Sojiro Sakura,” he adds. “The others call me Boss.”

Yuuki nods, stares down at the curry. “Mishima,” he says.

Boss stands there a moment longer but Yuuki doesn't look up, doesn't think he could deal with his expression, whatever it is. Then there's a sigh and he moves away, back towards his crossword.

It takes Yuuki a while to start eating and then he can't taste much. Sometime between starting and finishing, Kurusu texts him back.

**i swear i did not tell them to do that.**

Yuuki doesn't have anything to say to that and puts his phone face down beside him. It vibrates again a moment later and once more after that. The third text comes through after he's finished eating and Boss has replaced his plate with a cup of coffee. Yuuki stirs sugar and cream into it and it's good – it might be the best coffee he's ever had – but mostly he just stares at it, hands wrapped around the mug, watching milky swirls circling the surface.

**told alibaba to lay off** , Kurusu's first text says, in part and, sure enough, there's another message from the unknown number, time stamped just minutes later. **can't do anything about morgana from here but he can read. show him this if you want him to leave you alone**

_The cat can read,_ Yuuki thinks. _Of course he can._

Kurusu's second message offers to bring Yuuki his homework, making no mention of where he expects to bring it. Yuuki doesn't laugh but he thinks about it.

He puts his phone down again without responding and fixes his eyes on the books lined up in front of him. Some trashy best sellers from years past, a couple of translated Western classics, and an Edogawa. Mysteries aren't really his thing but it'll do.

So, he stay there – he doesn't know how long – alternately reading and not reading, skimming the words and staring at them, lost in his head and somewhere outside it, ignoring the world and himself along with it. It won't miss him if he steps out for a while.

He comes back to himself to words, spoken rather than written – Boss and someone else, very close by. The someone else is familiar, voice light and friendly, and something inside Yuuki thinks to frown. He glances up.

“I don't have my name on it,” Akechi Goro says, smiling his cloudless TV smile before settling onto a stool two down from Yuuki, who does frown, reflexive and puzzled, as Boss says, “Usual?” already reaching for a mug.

“Please,” says Akechi, and folds his hands on the counter, legs loosely crossed. “This is the high point of my day.”

“Your days must be pretty boring, then,” Boss says.

“Surprisingly often,” Akechi replies, “that is the case.”

Boss places a mug in front of him and Akechi curls his fingers around it and draws it close, breathing deep.

“Excellent,” he says, on the end of a sigh.

“You haven't even tasted it, yet,” Boss says, tone betraying a flicker of amusement.

“I don't need to,” says Akechi. “This aroma speaks volumes.”

Boss snorts then glances over, catches Yuuki watching.

“Hey,” he says. “The kid should be home, soon.”

Yuuki flips his phone over to check the time. There's a new message from the unknown number. It came in two hours ago.

For a moment, he stares, thinking hard, tries to recall the telltale vibration, or anything else that might have happened around him in that span of time, and draws a blank.

Oh, well.

It vibrates in his hand, an in-coming message from Kurusu. Boss's prescience is proved; he's on his way home. From the look of the clock, he's leaving straight from school. Yuuki freely admits he doesn't know much about what the Thieves, Kurusu included, actually do with their time, but he knows that that's unusual. It annoys him.

He puts his phone face down again and looks up. Boss has moved away, towards the far end of the bar. Akechi is now observing him. When he sees Yuuki notice, he smiles and says, “You're a friend of Kurusu-kun's?”

Kurusu is buddies with Akechi Goro. Of course he is. Why not?

“Yeah,” says Yuuki. “We're in the same class.”

Akechi's eyebrows raise. “You're a Shujin student?” he says. “Well, then. I'm Akechi Goro. It's nice to meet you.”

Yuuki nods, doubtful.

“Yeah,” he says, again. “Mishima.”

Akechi's smile is sudden and blinding and Mishima recoils, startled.

“Ah,” he says. “So _you're_ Mishima.”

“Uh?” Yuuki doesn't know how to respond to – whatever this is. “Yes?” Akechi's eyes are on him, bright and curious, and he's still _smiling_.

“Kurusu has mentioned you,” he explains, which doesn't actually explain anything. “And, of course, your name came up in our initial investigation of the Phantom Thieves.”

Yuuki jerks back, again. It's more a twitch. “It did?”

Akechi nods, unconcerned, and takes a sip of his coffee. “The Phantom Aficianado website traced back to you. Of course, there was no indication that the Thieves themselves had anything to do with it and, given your personal stake in the Kamoshida case, we thought it unnecessary to question you merely for creating a fansite for a group to whom you clearly feel you owe a great deal.”

“Personal. Stake?”

“Mmhm. The lead detective assigned to the case ultimately decided against taking a statement from you personally. He was able to obtain sufficient testimony from other students to corroborate the substance of the confession. I was rather relieved.” Goro is smiling that sunny, carefree smile. It softens when he looks over and meets Yuuki's eyes. “It was my view that subjecting you and Takamaki-san, to say nothing of Suzui-san, to an extended interrogation would have been needlessly cruel. Had Kamoshida attempted to withdraw his confession, it would of course have been necessary to do so, but thankfully it never came to that.” Akechi looks over at Yuuki, again, and frowns at whatever he sees; Yuuki can't begin to guess. “Is something wrong?”

Yuuki swallows hard past a tightness that wasn't there a minute or two ago. “Uh,” he begins. “I – um – I didn't know. I never knew that.”

“Ah.” Akechi's expression is thoughtful. “I find that surprising. Your mother was interviewed and agreed that being asked to make a statement at the time of his confession might unnecessarily re-traumatize you. I assumed she'd spoken with you about it.”

Yuuki shakes his head. “No,” he says. “She didn't.”

Akechi is still looking at him, he thinks, watching him, but he can't be sure. All he can see are the coffee siphons down the counter, that edges tilting at strange angles. Akechi breathes, begins to speak.

“Perhaps she felt – ”

“I didn't know,” Yuuki breaks in. “Giving a statement. I didn't know that was an option. No one ever asked me.”

There's a silence that doesn't last as long as it feels.

“Would you have wanted to?” Akechi asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” says Yuuki, eyes back on Akechi, focus crystal sharp, ice in his veins. “Why do you think I let that – why do you think I did that stupid interview? I wanted to _tell_ someone and – ” He stops, eye closed, teeth clenched, takes a breath in through his nose. “Ohya,” he says, “was the only one who asked.”

Silence, again. Yuuki looks down at his book. He can't make out the words. Ohya hadn't minded when he cried. She had been _nice_ about it. That was the part that made him angry, that made him sick.

There's movement to his left. Akechi is closing the gap, sliding into the stool right beside him. He draws his mug over with him and his fair falls forward as he looks down at it.

“Was that,” he begins, soft enough it won't carry, “the only time you discussed it? That interview?”

Yuuki follows his gaze so they're both staring at Akechi's cooling coffee.

“Yes,” he says.

“I see.” Pause. “You never talked with Kurusu about it?”

Yuuki shakes his head. “Of course not.”

“I had assumed – but assumptions are dangerous. This is why.”

Yuuki's eyes snap to Akechi's. They look very far away.

“What do you mean?” he asks, not sure he want to know.

“I mentioned to him the thought that went into ensuring you needn't testify,” Akechi says. “He agreed with me. I thought then that you had confided in him. As you haven't, I suspect now that he assumed you didn't want to discuss it.”

“I wouldn't have,” Yuuki says. “Not with him.”

Akechi meets his eyes, blinks as if startled. “Why not?”

“He's one of the last people I'd talk to about it,” Yuuki says. “He stood up to – to Kamoshida. He _kept_ standing up to him, even after what I did.”

Akechi frowns. “What you did?”

“I leaked his record,” Yuuki tells him, because why not, his shame is free for public consumption, he accepts that. “Kamoshida told me to, so I did. By the time he started school, everyone knew. It was bad and I did that. Everything was shit for him, right from the start, and _I did that_. I can't believe he didn't tell you.”

Akechi looks puzzled. It's soon replaced, though, by a smile much darker than those before.

“I see,” he says. And then, “Kurusu rarely tells me anything, particularly if I haven't asked directly. And in this case he likely felt you wouldn't want it known. He wants to _protect_ you.”

There's something about Akechi's eyes, just then, about the bitter curve to his mouth and the lilting emphasis on each word. Something sharp and familiar and Yuuki's anger flares and his stomach churns as he says, “I don't need protecting. I need to atone.”

Silence rings between them, heavy, desolate. Boss is at the other end of the counter, hands busy with the siphons, but watching them, face set with caution. He meets Yuuki's eyes and doesn't look away.

Akechi moves, again, breaking the moment. He picks up Yuuki's phone and flips it face up. For a moment, he examines the lock screen, then holds it out for Yuuki to take. Yuuki does.

“In that case,” Akechi says, voice soft, “you should come with me.”

Their eyes meet. Yuuki doesn't respond.

Akechi raises one eyebrow. “Do you want to be here when he gets back?”

Yuuki doesn't have to think about it; he shakes his head. Akechi nods.

“Then we should leave,” he says. “Quickly.”

Again, Yuuki doesn't think.

“I'll be right back,” he says, and goes to get his things.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuki isn't gonna stop being grateful just because 'hero' and 'pushy douche' aren't mutually exclusive.

Yuuki follows Akechi onto the train and slumps into the seat beside him, pulling his phone from his pocket by reflex. Another message from Alibaba; he recalls he never read the one she sent after Kurusu apparently called her off.

That one, he finds, is similar in tone to her first message – received orders to stand down, can resume surveillance at any time, all will worship and despair, whatever. The second was sent sent minutes ago and reads, simply, **WTF R U DOIN W AKECHI??????** So much for standing down.

He doesn't really think much about how to respond and it ends up being a photo of his own extended middle finger, the logo of Akechi's weird metal briefcase pointedly captured in the background. She sends back **RUDE** and he puts his phone away.

Akechi is looking at him with raised eyebrows when Yuuki looks over at him. He shrugs in reply just as his phone starts buzzing.

It doesn't stop until he's blocked Sakamoto's number rather than asking the real questions which are 1) why Sakamoto cares, and, 2) if his mom knows he uses words like that. The answers, he decides, are 2) probably, and, 1) Yuuki doesn't care. He'll unblock him later.

Probably.

He and Akechi don't talk on the train. Akechi has a book to read and Yuuki, when not pondering Sakamoto's invective, leans back into the window with his eyes closed. He's always tired, these days.

Akechi nudges him when they reach their stop and they leave the station in silence. Yuuki's a little surprised when he realizes they're in Inokashira Park but he follows Akechi to a quiet area under a tree, off the path, well away from the lake. Akechi offers him half a smile.

“You have some reason for not going home,” he says. It's not a question. “I thought I would provide an alternative. Unless you'd prefer a venue requiring more human interaction?”

Yuuki would not prefer that, actually. He communicates as much by dropping where he stands and sitting still for a moment before deciding, 'fuck it', and flopping onto his back in the grass.

“This is fine,” he says and thinks he hears Akechi laugh. He waits until his companion is settled on the ground as well, leaning against the tree, to add, “I can head home at sundown at the earliest. Midnight is preferable.”

Akechi hums thoughtfully.

“I recall allegations,” he begins, “that certain students' parents were aware of Kamoshida's abuse but chose not to intervene. May I take a wild stab and assume that yours were included?”

“Bullseye,” Yuuki says. “Probably. I don't know what they knew or didn't know. I just know they don't want their guests to see me, anymore.”

“Implying that at one time they _did_ want their guests to see you?”

“Well, yeah. I had stuff going for me, before. Kamoshida made us famous. So I had to come let them introduce me. Once the bruises on my face got too obvious that happened less but I could come in and tell them I was back from practice on my way to bed.” He frowns. “At this point I think they're just hoping no one remembers I exist.”

“I see.”

Yuuki turns his head to see the expression that goes with that tone. It's very blank, jaw set and tense, and that seems about right.

“It's not a big deal,” he says.

Akechi clears his throat and nods, seems to consciously relax.

“I can see that,” he says. “Then I suppose you weren't home when Detective Ito spoke with your mother.”

“Unless it was between midnight and six AM, I doubt it.”

“She informed him that you were taking a nap and it would be best not to disturb you.”

Yuuki snorts. “I mean, I might have been?” he says. “But it would have been in the school library and Niijima-senpai would have disturbed me in about ten minutes.”

Akechi laughs. “Having met both Niijimas,” he replies, “I can assure you that Detective Ito is far less frightening.”

“Damn, there's more than one of her?”

“Oh, yes. Sae Niijima. She's a prosecutor. A highly effective one. She's raised Makoto since their parents passed.”

“She _must_ be tough.”

“Extremely.”

They're silent for a while. It's less burdensome, less charged than their silences were at the cafe. Yuuki closes his eyes, wonders if geography is the deciding factor.

“Are you gonna ask me about it?” he says, into the quiet.

Akechi makes another thoughtful sound. “Not today,” he says. “I suspect it would prove unnecessarily upsetting for both of us.”

Yuuki frowns, nose scrunching, confused again, but he doesn't open his eyes.

“Why would it be upsetting for you?” he asks.

“I'm a detective,” Akechi says, but it's rote, empty. Yuuki waits. “And I also have – personal reasons,” he continues, after too long a pause, voice pitched low and cautious, “for resenting abuses of power.”

Yuuki gives a little grunt, attentive without interrupting.

“My father,” Akechi tells him, at length, “was a man not dissimilar to Kamoshida.”

“Ah,” Yuuki says. “That's personal, all right.” He opens his eyes to squint at Akechi, who's watching him very closely. “What's his name?” he asked. “If he's still alive we can drop a request on the Site. I know you're not exactly a Phan Boy but I bet it'd be pretty nice to see him grovel.”

Akechi blinks twice and then laughs. Some of the tension goes out of him and he stretches his legs out in front of him. His foot nudges Yuuki's hip.

“No, thank you,” he says, with a definite smirk. “When my father receives retribution, it will be at my hand and no on elses'. That's why I entered this line of work to begin with.”

Yuuki nods.

“Godspeed then,” he says. “Film the groveling, if you get the chance. I'd love to see it.”

“If I have my way,” says Akechi, “the whole world will see it.”

Yuuki is smiling, now.

“Awesome. Take him down. But,” he adds, “if it comes down to you or the Thieves, I'm gonna have to back them. Professional responsibility.”

“I understand completely,” Akechi says. “I appreciate your support, regardless.”

“No problem,” says Yuuki, and it's really not. He's always done better in support.

 

Yuuki takes to dodging Kurusu. It's not as hard as he expected. Kurusu might know all the cool places to go in Tokyo but Yuuki has lived here all his life; he knows all the _dull_ parts and he would bet his internet access that Kurusu has never been anywhere near the office building where his dad works or any of the million shrines that don't show up in guide books.

The shrines are a particular haven for him. They're quiet, relatively speaking, and he's been craving that more and more. The occasional monk eyes him suspiciously but he never does much and eventually they leave him alone. He thinks they recognize the uniform.

Dodging aside, he doesn't cut contact. Kurusu might be a bit too interested in things that are none of his concern but that's what makes him a hero; Yuuki isn't gonna stop being grateful just because 'hero' and 'pushy douche' aren't mutually exclusive. He texts Kurusu targets (usually just links to the relevant forum posts, now, rather than providing commentary) and brief but sincere thanks with each heart that's changed. He sets up alerts on the posts and watching updates, ecstatic or just relieved, roll in makes him feel _better_ , somehow, than anything else he's ever done in his life.

He knows the feeling is irrational; he's not actually doing much. At best he's a conduit, a door through which information can flow. He can accept that, he thinks, when he sees the forum notification flash, and smiles to himself. Three today. If they're all success reports, it confirms one of his long-held theories, that being, that the Thieves do whatever it is they do in batches. Not the big targets but the smaller ones; the ones he gives them. This is the fourth time since he started this he's gotten a rash of responses like this and that's twice too many for a coincidence. It makes him curious, about their methods and how they can target that many disparate people at once, but for his purposes, it doesn't matter. They've found a rhythm and he doesn't feel like throwing it off.

He wonders if Akechi's noticed, too.

After class, that day, Yuuki slips out quick, on the off chance Kurusu plans to pin him down, and takes the side stairwell in case Sakamoto tries it, but he can't resist checking the posts as he descends.

Score three for the Phantom Thieves, he thinks, and score one for his own capacity for pattern recognition.

He types out his usual thanks to Kurusu, long practice enabling him to navigate by peripheral vision as long as he doesn't lose track of his feet. It slows him down, though, which makes it his fatal mistake.

“Mishima-kun!”

Yuuki startles midstep, comes down wrong and stumbles, barely keeps himself from falling. His phone is safe, clutched to his chest, both hands curled around it.

Whatever subconscious process governs reflexes places higher value on his phone than his face. Good to know.

He sighs and shoves his phone down into his pocket as he straightens himself up. Takamaki is beside him, hand half-extended, blue eyes wide.

“Mishima-kun,” she says, again. “Are you okay? Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

“It's fine,” he says. “It's not like a dropped my phone or something.”

She hesitates before lowering her hand. “Oh,” she says. “Okay.”

He buries his hands in his pockets, curls one around his cell. It's his security blanket; he accepted this about himself long before the Thieves entered the picture. “What did you need?” he asks, and starts making his way through the crowd of students again. She falls into step beside him, like it's nothing out of the ordinary, and they've left the school grounds and made it half-way to the station before she speaks.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” she says.

“Did Kurusu put you up to this?” He looks over in time to catch her head shaking.

“No,” she says. “He didn't tell me much about what happened.”

Yuuki finds that hard to believe. She was the first, after Kurusu and Sakamoto teamed up, and he knows what 'thick as thieves' means.

“I was with him,” she goes on. “When he stopped you. Or before, I guess.” When Yuuki looks over, again, her eyes are distant, the lines of her face tense. “He had me take Morgana and go on ahead. Since you guys are closer. We didn't want to freak you out.”

Yuuki remembers something about this, he thinks. It hadn't been explicit, but Kurusu had asked Boss about her and he'd come back with something about the cat. Inscrutable, at the time, but it makes sense, now.

“Thanks, I guess,” he says, belated, as they come up to station entrance. By some silent accord, they stop there and stand facing each other, just outside the rush of students on their way in. He catches some of them staring and cares less than he might have, once. “I'm fine,” he adds, because she said she was checking in and maybe that will be enough.

Of course it isn't.

“Mishima-kun,” she says, grim and determined like he's never seen her. “Shiho was my best friend. She's still my best friend.”

That aching stab of guilt and envy goes through him, sinks deep, and he looks away.

“I know,” he says.

“I don't want to – ” She hesitates, starts again. “I can't go through that again. I won't accept it. That shitbag doesn't get any more casualties.”

Yuuki snorts before he can restrain himself. “A little late for that,” he says, meeting her eyes with a vague feeling of 'fuck it'. “He started on me freshman year. It's already done.”

For an instance she looks stricken, like he went ahead and gutted himself in front of her. But then it passes and that determination returns, grimmer than before. He's getting kind of sick of grim determination and doesn't feel like waiting around to see what else she's got ready for him.

“Bye, Takamaki-san,” he says, then darts back into the dwindling crowd and away.


	6. Chapter 6

Yuuki gets off the train at Akasaka-Mitsuke, not for any particular reason, and barely notices where he is until he sees the TV station. Right, they came here for school, once, and Kurusu and Akechi argued about the nature of justice on live television, like it was a reasonable thing to do. How long ago was that? Months? Or decades?

Yuuki runs a hand through his hair and sighs, slumping into the nearest building. It's hours, still, before he can head home. He needs somewhere to go. Wondering where he can lurk, he pulls his phone from his pocket and frowns at the new texts he doesn't remember getting.

Kurusu, acknowledging his thanks, and then, a while later, asking if he's okay and if he wants to meet up and talk. From this, Yuuki deduces he's heard from Takamaki. Yeah, no. He's trying to decide whether this farce even merits a response when he hears yet another, “Mishima-kun!”

Yuuki frowns when he looks up, reflexive, because he can't think of anyone he's willing deal with, right, now, who might call him that. When he sees Akechi, he relaxes – not completely but enough to shove his phone into his pocket without maintaining a death grip on it. “Oh, hey,” he says.

Akechi is smiling as he approaches, pleasant and polite. It's his default, Yuuki thinks, on screen or off. Given his own default seems to be 'anxious', he's a little jealous.

“I wasn't expecting to run into you,” Akechi says. “Do you have business in this neighborhood?”

“Ah, no,” Yuuki says. “I was just killing time. Why are you here?” He glances towards the TV station, visible down the block. “Wooing your public?”

“Hardly that,” Akechi says, and folds his arms across his chest. He's wearing gloves, again, Yuuki notes, and wonders if he ever takes them off. “My popularity appears to be inversely proportionate to that of the Phantom Thieves and they are, at present, in the highest possible demand.”

Yuuki can't help but smirk a little. “Own fault for trashing them,” he says, then remembers something. “Wait, is that why you turned the comments off on your blog?”

Akechi laughs. “Ah, you noticed that?” he says. “Yes, that's correct. The initial rise in criticism was no trouble but things have taken a distinct turn for the abusive.”

Yuuki grimaces for more reasons than he's comfortable admitting. “People are pretty terrible, online,” he offers.

“So I've learned,” says Akechi. “May I assume you're again waiting for nightfall?”

Yuuki slouches back into the wall. “You got me. Pretty sad, huh?”

“It is what it is,” Akechi replies. “I can't currently spend much time in public without drawing undue attention, but you're welcome to accompany me home.”

Yuuki raises his eyebrows. He wasn't expecting that.

“And do what?”

“I generally read,” Akechi says, “when I don't have work to do.”

“Exciting,” says Yuuki.

“Things don't get exciting until the third date,” Akechi tells him and Yuuki snorts then lets out a brief flurry of surprised giggles. He _really_ wasn't expecting that. Akechi's pleasant smile has gained the edges of a smirk.

“So there _is_ a sense of humor in there somewhere,” Yuuki says. “I'm sold. Where to?” He pushes off the wall and lets Akechi lead the way, again.

 

“I wanted to ask,” Akechi says, as they ascend the stairs in an apartment block eerily similar to Yuuki's own. Clean, precise, lifeless.

(Yuuki knows, intellectually, that people live in his apartment building – he does, to start, and his parents, and he sees other tenants in the halls and on the stairs – but it's never felt like a place that people live. It's a place people stay – a hotel rather than a home. Comfortable, forgettable, impersonal. Akechi's building has the same vibe.)

“Yeah?” he says, when Akechi doesn't continue.

“About the Thieves,” he says, like he was just waiting for the cue. “Do you think they'll target Okumura next?”

“Wouldn't surprise me,” Yuuki says. “But you'd be better off asking one of them. We aren't exactly in touch.” It's not even really a lie; he shoots off texts and results trickle in from the forum. Separate from that, he knows Kurusu and Sakamoto and Takamaki. There's a distinction to be made between knowing his classmates and knowing the Phantom Thieves.

“They seem to utilize your forum,” Akechi says.

They exit the stairwell on the third floor and head down the hall. Yuuki shoves his hands in his pockets, looks at the carpet. He doesn't both denying it.

“I guess so,” he says. “Some of the requests get answered, at least, assuming the OPs are telling the truth.”

“I can vouch for some of them.” Akechi stops in front of a door, identical to all the others, remarkable only because it's the one with a lock to match Akechi's key.

“Can you?” Yuuki asks.

Akechi opens the door and they step inside.

Yuuki ditches his sneakers and bag alongside Akechi's loafers and briefcase and follows him down the short entry hall into the main room. The lefthand wall of the entryway turns out to divide it from a small kitchen, open to the living area, separated only by the line where linoleum gives way to laminate. Across the room is a small nook where two doors face each other and another points out. The door farthest from them is half-open and Yuuki sees a shower stall. The other doors, he supposes, will be a bedroom and a closet. There's an older model flat screen TV against the wall connecting to the bathroom, two bookshelves pressed into either corner, an armchair and a couch at right angles to each other, and a low table. It's all rather bland and utilitarian and Yuuki suspects the apartment may have come furnished.

“Go sit,” Akechi says, nodding towards the couch. “Would you like tea?”

“Sure, if you're offering.”

Yuuki sits on the couch and relaxes back into it, eyes closing as he settles. He can hear Akechi moving in the kitchen, the running faucet and the gentle clink of crockery. The familiar rumble of a boiling kettle comes on the heels of soft steps across the laminate, then a door opens nearby. Yuuki opens his eyes a minute or so later to see Akechi emerge from the bedroom, out of his coat and gloves, sleeves rolled past his elbows, a few top buttons undone. The t-shirt underneath is the same pristine white. Yuuki closes his eyes again.

“Here we are,” Akechi says, in what feels like less time than tea should have taken. Yuuki blinks at him a few times before accepting the cup he's being offered. It's steaming and when he folds his fingers around it, he realizes they're very cold.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Of course.” Akechi sits at the other end of the couch and crosses one leg over the other. He offers a benign smile and holds his own mug close to his nose, as if breathing in the steam.

“So,” Yuuki says. “Which ones can you vouch for?”

Akechi raises one eyebrow, a question. A question, and also a lie, Yuuki thinks, but he rolls with it.

“You said you could vouch for some of the requests from the Phan Site. Which ones?”

“Ah,” Akechi says. “Of course.” He takes a ginger sip from his cup and licks the residue from his upper lip. “Well,” he says. “Some of them – not all, certainly – but some of them were actually criminal matters. The most note-worthy example would be the break-ins in Shibuya over the summer. One of the gang had an abrupt fit of hysterics and confessed, both to the thefts and to physically abusing his younger brother, who most likely made the request. There have been others, as well – a college student recently turned himself in for animal cruelty. Police hadn't even been looking for him but he arrived at the precinct in tears. There was a request about him posted, as well, and it was updated thanking the Thieves for their help several days later.”

“Hm,” Yuuki says. “Yeah, I remember those. Didn't know the cat guy went to the cops, though.”

“Oh, yes,” Akechi says. “I saw the video of his confession. It was quite dramatic. Do _all_ changes of heart require histrionics, I wonder?”

“Mine didn't,” Yuuki says, not thinking much about it. “I mean, there was crying, but I didn't start screaming or anything.” He frowns. “Though I never butchered a cat.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” says Akechi, a little too slow. He takes a breath like he's about to go on but nothing follows. Yuuki reviews the last minute or so in his head.

“Ah,” he says. “Right.” He looks over at Akechi, sees his raised eyebrows and retaliates with his own. “Surprise?” he offers. “I can't tell you how they did it, though.”

“Can't or won't?”

“The first one.” Yuuki smiles. It feels weak and crooked even to him. “I woke up on my bedroom floor, crying, and stayed there until I'd made myself puke, then got in the shower and cried some more. It was – ” He hesitates, torn between the sarcastically mild – “not a fun time” – and the humiliatingly honest – “exactly what I deserved”. In the end, he just shrugs. “It was what it was,” he says. “And it's turned out okay. I can focus better, now that I remember why it's important.”

“Why what's important?” Akechi asks.

“The Phan Site.” It occurs to Yuuki that this probably sounds bad, like the Thieves had some ulterior motive for changing his heart, like they came after him because he wasn't helping them enough, rather than because he'd gone so far wrong. But Yuuki knows the truth and he can tell it if he has to. “That's my atonement,” he says. “And my justice. It's why I'm not dead already.”

Yuuki has his eyes closed, again, his head tipped back into the couch cushions. “Kurusu's worried I'm gonna kill myself,” he adds, on a whim, when Akechi stays silent. It's another few seconds before he replies.

“Are you?” he asks.

Yuuki smiles, again. It doesn't feel quite as weak. “Nah,” he says. “I've got stuff to do.”

He cracks his eyes open, rolls his head against the cushion to get a look at Akechi's face. It's not horrified, not even grimly determined. If Yuuki had to pick a word, it would be 'intrigued'. He feels another whim coming on.

“Are _you_?” he asks.

Akechi finally looks startled. He covers it with the quick, gentle smile that makes television audiences think he might actually give a shit about them. It's out of place, and somehow this lie that he's not expected to believe feels more like honesty than anything Akechi's said to him yet.

“Oh, no,” he says, smile in place. “I have, as you put it, stuff to do.”

“How about when you're done with that?”

Akechi smiles a little sharper, a little meaner.

“My schedule is open, after that,” he tells Yuuki, in a voice sweet as honey. “So I suppose we'll see.”

 

Yuuki doesn't make it home that night. He falls asleep on Akechi's couch, wakes up a couple hours later to eat the basic stir-fry he's offered and crashes again as soon as his stomach is full. The last train is gone by the time he wakes up again. Akechi looks more amused than annoyed.

“Minor sleep deficit, I see?” he says, and Yuuki's responding grumble means 'fuck off', though it lacks any decipherable form.

“At least your quest for justice doesn't involve ten thousand internet trolls,” he says. “Do you have any idea how many IP addresses I block on an average night?”

He's on the couch, still, loosely curled on his side, a throw pillow under his head. Akechi has moved to the chair, and is watching him with open amusement.

“Judging by your tone,” he says, “I'll hazard 'a lot'.”

“So many more than 'a lot',” Yuuki says. “I feel like that's 60% of what I do these days. Not of site maintenance, of everything.”

“Delightful,” says Akechi.

“It really isn't.” Yuuki sighs and rubs his face. “I really missed the last train?”

“By half an hour.”

“Shit.” He shoves his face down into the pillow, briefly smothering himself, then looks at Akechi, again. “Why didn't you wake me up?”

“I considered it,” he says. “Should I have? Will your parents worry?”

Yuuki narrows his eyes. “Is that a real question?” he asks of Akechi's angel face and big, solemn eyes. “I doubt they'll even notice.”

“Hmm.” A flicker of a smile passes over his face. “What would it take for them to notice?”

Yuuki considers the question. “I'd have to be gone a couple of days, at least. A week? Depends on the time of year. We take family photos at the holidays. I'm gonna say two weeks on the outside.” His brow furrows. “I wonder what they'll do for photos, this year,” he says. “They won't want me in them, probably.”

“Hoping everyone's forgotten you exist?” Akechi quotes Yuuki from two weeks ago.

“Mm,” he says. “It might look weird if their kid isn't in the picture. But then anyone who wants to make them uncomfortable will have an opening to mention me. I don't know if they'll risk it.”

“You're very inconvenient, aren't you?” Akechi asks.

Yuuki laughs. “Oh, man, you have no idea. I can't even imagine the conversational gymnastics they've been doing the last couple months.”

“You sound rather sanguine about it.”

Yuuki closes his eyes.

“I guess? I mean, it sucks. But it's also not personal. They don't know who I am, just that I'm not who they're looking for. So they don't really see me. I've always known that.”

“You see yourself as a stranger,” Akechi says.

“I kind of am.”

There's a long silence. Akechi's couch is comfortable, and he hasn't kicked him off it, so Yuuki considers going back to sleep.

“We got away from the topic,” Akechi says. “We were discussing changes of heart.”

Yuuki considers this.

“I guess so.” He figures this is a conversation he should be awake for and drags himself upright, shoving the pillow behind him as he leans into the arm of the couch again. 

“What was your change of heart?” Akechi asks, and meets his eyes. Yuuki doesn't look away.

“Pride,” he says. “Vanity. I stopped supporting them because it was right and started doing it to feed my ego. Started boosting bullshit threads about celebrities or whatever hoping they'd get famous and I would, too.”

“Is that all?” Akechi asks, eyes thoughtful and sharp, still holding Yuuki's.

“No. I was also banning people – not trolls – and sending threats to half of them, like 'the Thieves will come for you next'. That kind of thing. It was bullshit, obviously, but I don't think they appreciated me trying to use them as a hit squad.”

“I imagine not,” Akechi says. “How did they even find out?”

Yuuki's eyebrows go up. “How do they find out anything?”

Akechi watches him for a long moment longer, then smiles.

“A fair point,” he says. “I wonder how many other changes of heart there have been that will never come to light.”

Yuuki shakes his head, smiling back. “And, once again, you're asking me. I thought you were a detective.”

“And I thought you were boring,” Akechi tells him. “Perhaps we were both mistaken.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader: Be Goro

Mishima Yuuki, Goro thinks, as they part ways at the train station, is not boring. He's fascinating, and in an entirely different way than Kurusu is or ever could be.

Kurusu, Goro decides, is alive. It's his defining trait. He has fought and survived and thrived and casually built hope and affection and a solid foundation out of dust and a thousand tears. Kurusu lives in an attic and the key is in the verb; he _lives_.

Mishima, though. Mishima is the dust. His tears dry to salt the ground and he has built nothing for his own. He is so casually suicidal it's as if he thinks he is dead already and is only waiting for his body to catch up. He said he has a purpose and Goro believes him but doubts Mishima would be much bothered if his train crashed with no survivors.

It's interesting, Goro thinks, because Mishima has made himself into such a nonentity that he's convinced most of the world he's not there at all. Goro is almost impressed; for all he's never once wanted to blend in, that kind of anonymity would be useful, every once in a while.

Also interesting: Mishima's heart has been changed. Has _already_ been changed. And yet – 

Goro smiles and slips his phone from his pocket.

 

Time flows strangely in the Metaverse, both figuratively and literally. Hours inside might be only a heartbeat out; but, then, a half hour can last all night. It's correlated to the task, Goro theorizes. If he lays around, relishing the quiet, reading a book or communing with Loki and the rest, there's no impact on anyone else and minimal change to reality. Running his dear father's errands is a different story; tracking down and killing a man in the Metaverse might feel like the work of a lunch break, but going berserk takes longer. Hours, maybe – who knows what physical process Goro triggers from within? He doesn't, and it varies in strange ways, so he's careful about how much he does and when. It wouldn't do if he were missed.

As he catapults himself down another escalator, deeper into Mementos he wonders how long this will take. He's never tracked down a Shadow for sheer curiosity before.

The app keeps him apprised of their progress. The shadows – lowercase, for the faceless masses – here are strong but he and Loki are stronger, smarter, faster. They know all the tricks, by now, and you'd think the shadows would have learned that Loki's tricks are better.

Another platform, another escalator – Goro flips, rolls out into another fight that they end with a burst of power too sudden to have definite form. The app alerts him that they're closing in. One more floor.

At the next platform, Goro stops, for the first time since the world reformed around him, and takes his helmet off. He shakes out his hair and runs a hand through it, finds it clumping with sweat.

_Delightful._

He leans against the wall at the mouth of the escalator, breathing slow and deep, settling the pounding of his heart, the quick rush of blood in his veins. The cool air helps – it's cooler this far down, though, like everything, that changes with public cognition. His sweat dries cold at his hairline and he rubs a wrist under his chin, blotting it with his sleeve.

The chill reminds him of how far down they are. They've been deeper but not by much – it's only the most unsavory of Shido's associates who appear at these depths. Yakuza cleaners, arms dealers, a fling who meant to murder Shido and the woman he left her for both. What's Mishima doing down here?

**Hiding,** Loki whispers. **Pretending he doesn't exist.**

Goro smirks.

“A sound hypothesis,” he says, and puts his helmet back on. “Let's investigate.”

 

The distortion, once they find it, is different than those Goro has encountered before – less a twist in metaspace than a crater, much more still and subtle than those of the Shadows he's confronted, creatures made of malice and vengeance and depthless, covetous rage.

Distortions aren't visible in the traditional sense – it's a synesthasic experience, feeling colors, smelling spaces, hearing a temperature that drops as he steps closer to a place that isn't a place, a wrinkle in the fabric of public awareness.

The public knows that stalkers and killers and suicides exist; Goro supposed that that's how these Shadows can manifest in Mementos to begin with. They know the what, but not the who, and that leaves the distortions stranded and invisible until they either break out to build a new home – a new Palace – or until someone like Goro or a Phantom Thief comes by to save them from themselves, or destroy them once and for all. They are, he thinks, so often one and the same.

When he slips into the pocket of existence where Mishima's Shadow dwells, he has a sense of change – a common feeling, one he suspects to be these private worlds being disrupted by the introduction of a foreign body, forced to take on a shape that can accommodate the intrusion. It's impossible to know what form, if any, the space had before anyone was there to see it, but he suspects this one has expanded. It's cold and claustrophobic – not visibly smaller than any other distortion, but the air is heavy and he senses the roof and walls much nearer than they look.

“Hmm,” he says, and looks around, eyes careful across each patch of darkness, each crumbling stone. He sees nothing that could be Mishima until he takes two steps further in and something changes – a shape huddled in a geometrically implausible corner, outline made dim by shadows cast by nothing in particular. That wasn't there before.

Goro's eyes narrow.

“Mishima,” he says.

The shape trembles, thickens.

“Mishima,” Goro says, again. “Mishima Yuuki. I'm here to talk to you.”

The shape is a boy, now, sitting by the wall with his legs folded, head bowed, hands in tight fists in his lap.

“That's better,” Goro says.

The Shadow's head tilts and yellow eyes give him a sidelong glare.

“If you're expecting me to fight you,” it says, “then fuck off. I'm done.”

Goro taps his helmet, thoughtful.

“Do people often try to fight you?” he asks.

It shrugs.

“Somebody did something. One of the others is gone.”

“One of – one of Mishima-kun's distortions, you mean?”

“Yeah.” It sighs. “Probably for the best, honestly. He'd kinda lost it. I might suck but better me in charge than that guy.”

“He wanted to be famous,” Goro recalls. So, he _had_ had a change of heart. Goro hadn't disbelieved it any more than he disbelieved most things people told him, but it was nice to have corroboration.

“More like, he thought we could be somebody.” The Shadow tightens its defensive curl, face twisted into a scowl. “It's such – shit. Just shit. Like we ever _meant_ anything.”

Goro sits down where he is, legs folded, and meets the suspicious glare the Shadow aims at him.

“Explain that,” he says.

“People mean things,” it says, words spined with irritation. “Their lives, their – existence, whatever. Unless they don't. I don't. I never have. He knew that, he was just being a dumbass.” It stops, frowns harder. “You're not one of them,” it says.

“One of the Phantom Thieves?” Goro asks. “No, I'm not.”

“You mean something, though,” it says. “You wouldn't be here if you didn't. What _are_ you doing here?”

Goro ignores the question. “Does being here necessitate meaning?” he asks. “That would seem to include you, as well.”

“No,” it says. “You're _really_ here. All of you. I'm a Shadow. The rest of me is – ” It gestures towards the cavernous gloom that presses in on them. “Out here. Why are you _here_?”

“I'm interested,” Goro says. “I talked with you – him. There was clearly a distortion, but he said his heart had already been changed. I was aware of the possibility of multiple distortions but had never observed one.”

The Shadow snorts.

“Should've guessed,” it says. “I hope my innate worthlessness is educational for you. Who are you, even?”

“No one in particular.”

“Uh-huh, right. You're not a Phantom Thief, so you don't steal hearts, right?”

“I don't steal hearts,” Goro says. “I break minds.”

The Shadow tenses as he slips his gun from the holster. He doesn't take aim, just weighs it in his hand, pointing it off in the direction he came. “If I used this,” he says, “you – or, should I say, Mishima-kun – would go into a swift decline and then, within the next several days at most, a mental shutdown. I could also drive you temporarily berserk, if I wanted.” He reholsters the gun and meets the Shadows wary eyes again. “Fortunately for you – unfortunately? – I'm not being paid to do that, right now.”

The Shadow shifts from suspicious to incredulous. “Mental shutdowns,” it says. “That's you. And, when you say 'berserk' – you mean those rampages that keep popping up. And you get _paid_ for that.”

“Yes,” says Goro.

_“Why?”_ It sounds legitimately baffled. Goro laughs.

“I get paid _very well_.”

“Bullshit,” the Shadow answers. Goro laughs, again.

“Maybe,” he says. “But it certainly doesn't hurt.”

The Shadow stares at him. It's posture has loosened, head lifted, grip no longer strangling its own knees. It frowns.

“Why tell me this?” it asks.

“I'm curious.” Goro stands up. “I want to know how much will leak through to the real Mishima. Rampaging through a Palace doesn't seem to have an impact on the host, but what about supplying information? I wonder.”

“So this is – an experiment?” it says.

“Yes,” replies Goro. “Congratulations. You have meaning, now, as my test subject.”

“Hey, fuck you,” it says.

Goro laughs, again.

“I'll see you around, Mishima-kun,” he says, and slips out the way he came.


	8. Chapter 8

Yuuki wakes up before his alarm, a couple of days after his talk-confrontation-whatever with Takamaki, with the sense of having been shifted.

He feels no wrenching guilt, no overwhelming shame, no inescapable compulsion to sob his eyes out, but his mind is not quite the same as it was when he fell asleep. He read A Study in Scarlet, once, and Holmes's description of his mind as an attic, carefully organized, has stuck with him. His own mind is more in the line of second-rate dragon's hoard, built bits and pieces taken from where they won't be missed, himself perched on top, protective but aware that it was never really his to begin with.

Someone, he thinks, has been rifling his hoard.

He finds, after a moment's consideration, that he doesn't really care. If it's the Thieves checking in on his heart, or something, it's annoying but it's not like he can stop them. And if it's not the Thieves – he still can't stop them.

Yuuki drags himself upright, dislodging Ami-chan from her sprawl across his hip, and shoves his pillow up against the wall so he can lean back comfortably. Ami-chan, accustomed to this routine, slinks into his lap and nestles, a poof of charcoal fur, curled tail indistinguishable from the rest of her.

His hands move on autopilot, one stroking her flank, while the other digs gentle fingers into the thick ruff at the back of her necks and rubs. She deigns to purr for a whole three seconds before silently accepting the worship that is her due.

She's warm, Yuuki notes. Warm and heavy, a solid, living presence against him, with air in her lungs and blood in her veins. She's so soft, he thinks, and marvels a little at this tiny predator that shares his bed.

This is how mornings go for Yuuki, a lot of the time. In a few minutes, he'll wake up enough to realize he's being a weirdo, but until then he's content to pet his cat and contemplate her fur. It's good fur.

His phone buzzes on his desk and he regards it dubiously for a long moment before reaching out.

A text message from Kurusu. It just says 'good morning'. That's new.

Yuuki considers ignoring it, as he has all of Kurusu's more personal overtures over the last two weeks, but the disrupted order of his mind has reminded him; he has no power, here. If Kurusu wanted to spread out Yuuki's secrets and peruse them at his leisure, he could do that. Part of him doesn't think Kurusu would (because he's kind, or because who would want to, it amounts to the same) but the rest won't risk it. If the Thieves want to pry, he'll open the door himself. Evading another crying jag like the last change of heart induced is pretty high on his priority list.

**Yeah, hi** , he texts back, then snaps a photo of Ami-chan, one hand still buried in her fur, and sends that along as well.

A few moments later, another message comes through.

**so pretty** it says. Yuuki wasn't expecting that.

**is it a girl?** He wasn't expecting that, either.

**Yes!** he replies, because hell yes, his cat is the prettiest. **This is Ami.** Another half second's consideration has him adding, **She's less of an asshole than Morgana.**

**that is not hard** , Kurusu responds, immediate. And then, **he scratched me**.

A photo comes through, familiar stripes of claw marks across the back of Kurusu's wrist, barely deep enough to bleed.

**Don't insult the cat in front of the cat** , Yuuki tells him. **That's like Cat Vassal 101**.

**i never had one before** , he replies. **missed out on the introductory course**

**Idk how you survived this long** , Yuuki says, then locks his phone, drops it, and closes his eyes. His now-free hand slides over Ami-chan's fur, again, then curls around her, protective.

It's Sunday. No school. He can stay here with her for a while longer.

His phone chimes and his hands tighten around her warmth. She shifts and churrs and tolerates his clumsiness he lifts her and holds her cradled against him, one thumb rubbing her nape. Her purr kicks up and, after a moment, her paws press to his chest and she begins to knead, claws prickling through his shirt.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, eyes still closed. “Good girl. I love you.” He kisses the top of her head and ignores the sting of tears in his eyes. “My good girl.” He sighs and relaxes back into the wall behind him.

The urge to cry passes and, for a while, there is stillness, Ami-chan's purr the only sound save his own breathing, slow and deep.

Then, he laughs.

“Sorry,” he tells her. “I'm a wreck. But you've never held it against me before, right?”

She tolerates a tighter hug for a second or two before shifting against him, claws extending in what feels like a deliberate threat. Yuuki laugh, again, and lets her go.

“Good girl,” he says, and gives her flank a last pat before hauling himself out of bed.

He feeds her in the dish by his desk and takes her water dish along to bathroom to refill, once he's brushed his teeth and washed the night's feelings from his face. It's really for the best it's just him and Ami-chan, he thinks. Bodily fluids are gross. Bodies are gross.

He thinks of his own; breaking, splitting, bursting on the train tracks. It's a wistful kind of thought, now that he knows he's being watched. Kurusu can't be everywhere at once but station attendants are. It's their job.

Yuuki's parents keep a calendar on the fridge, a careful record of every meeting and trip and party that deviates even slightly from their careful routine. He looks at it as he swallows a glass of water, thinks about how his volleyball games used to be on there, but now there's nothing to show he's in their lives at all.

Well, fair enough. He's not.

They're out of town, it looks like. A conference of some kind, for his dad. Yuuki checks the clock against the time printed in the AM block. It's 8:39; their flight left over an hour ago. Neat hatchmarks fill in the rest of Sunday, then Monday, Tuesday, and half of Wednesday. They'll return in the early afternoon.

Yuuki ponders this, for a moment. Back when he actually came home after school, his mother would generally be there to greet him after business trips, checking in before going to her room to rest. His parents would then stay in, alone, and he thought there was some idea in play that they should spend time with their son after being away. But this is their first trip since the arrest, so he's not sure the same etiquette will hold.

He'll think about it, he decides, when Wednesday comes. No reason to worry until then.

Briefly, he considers staying home. It's a viable option, for once. But he's dressed and hungry and even if there were food in the apartment (there never is) it would feel weird, hanging around all day. Like trespassing.

Ami-chan's bell sounds softly as she slips into the kitchen. She winds between his ankles and meows, offended when he heads for the front hall. She gets between his feet when he starts to put his shoes on, headbutts his fingers as they manipulate the laces.

“Thank you, sweetie,” he says, “but I don't need help. You can't help. You don't have thumbs.” He's only half aware of his own rambling; talking to the cat comes more easily than with any human. That wasn't so much the case back when he was a full-time punching bag but it is, now, and he feels this change is for the better. He rubs her ruff before he goes, still mumbling affectionate nonsense, and is almost smiling on his way out.

She's a pretty great cat.

Yuuki unlocks his phone on the way to the station. Mostly Phan Site notices – he'll sort those out when he finds a place to set up camp for a while. Three text messages, as well; two from Kurusu, the last from a number he's saved as 'ur a lozer' on the grounds she will probably be able to see and be annoyed by it. Kurusu first.

**he doesn't have sushi money rn** Right, talking about their cats. It was followed about ten minutes later by, **akechi goro is at leblanc. he wants your #** No question, just a statement of fact. Yuuki senses ambivalence.

**Sure pass it on** , he shoots back.

With a strong hunch of what he's going to find, he flips over to Alibaba's message. No dire bullshit, this time, which actually worries him a bit.

**look akechi is bad news wtf do you even talk about tell akira no please**

**We make out** , he tells her. There's been no response from Kurusu but hers is nigh-instant.

**gross**

And then, **also who are you calling a loser loser**.

Yuuki curls his fingers over a smirk. **Eloquent** He pauses outside the station, out of the flow of pedestrians. **Hey are you like tracking my phone w GPS or w/e**

**eloquent** , she replies. **no akira said it was creepy which is dumb bc i do it to him and its fine**

Then, **hey mishima kun. akira is dumb**

He watches, amused, as more text loads on his screen.

**ugh so dumb**

**you are also dumb**

**and akechi is a dick**

**do you srsly hang out with this guy how hes infuriating**

**smug dick**

**dumb akira**

**dumb mishima**

**youre all bad men are trash your trash prince has your number now see if i ever say please to you again**

She's still typing so Yuuki, figuring that this conversation is going fine without his input, locks his phone and heads into the station. He doesn't check it again until he makes it to Shinjuku.

He slips into the side street where the fortune teller Kurusu hangs around is set up and slumps against the wall. She's got a customer with her; no sign of Kurusu, which is good. Coming here was a gamble, since he hangs around enough that he's got to have saved her life by now. Yuuki's considered talking with her but it's never seemed worth whatever weird occult shit he'd have to wade through to get to an actual human.

He thinks he used to be a nicer person.

It doesn't matter, now.

Alibaba's rant, when he open it, looks to have continued along the same vein for another couple of minutes before insulting him for ignoring her, imploring him to be careful, and signing off with one last **loser**. She's changed her handle on his phone to 'Alibaba', too.

Kurusu has also texted, again. It just says **done.** which is so Kurusu he smiles a little.

The final thread is an unknown number. It's a nice feeling, knowing something his tiny super computer doesn't, for once.

**Mishima-kun,** the first message begins, **this is Akechi. Kurusu-kun passed along your contact information.**

Yuuki feels his smile twist into amusement. Look at him, using grammar.

The next one says, **I have a meeting until 2:00PM today but was hoping you might let me pay you back for last time, after.**

Yuuki is pretty sure he should be the one paying Akechi back, honestly, given he's the who fell asleep on a near-stranger's couch and only woke up long enough to eat his food, but whatever.

The third and last message reads, **Let me know, when you get the chance.**

He replies **Sure im in shinjuku for a bit just tell me when and where**

There's no immediate reply so he puts his phone back in his pocket and leans into the wall, head tipped back, eyes lightly closed.

What to do.

He needs to eat something, however much the thought makes his stomach roll, but he'll probably just hand around here for a bit. His eyes have been bugging him, too much time staring at screens, and there's usually something interesting going down to eavesdrop on. He lets his eyes open halfway and relaxes into his slouch, turning his attention outwards, towards the sounds around him. He's lived in Tokyo long enough it's all white noise until he consciously tunes in.

Some college boys are talking indelicately about a woman Yuuki knows with absolute certainty is not, as they appear to believe, a sex worker (or, in point of fact, a woman, generally speaking) and a couple is not-arguing about a recent credit card charge. He recognizes both the voices and the conversation of the latter, and wonders why adults are all terrible.

A guy in a suit – Yuuki doesn't look, he just knows – asks someone for the time, and is told, in a friendly baritone. As one, the college boys shut up. Yuuki smiles. Why are they even in Shinjuku?

He focuses enough to see Mimi-chan looking politely confused as suit guy (one point) splutters incoherent thanks then hurries away. Their eyes catch and she smiles back as she makes her way over.

“Yuuki-chan!” she says, in a voice that's not quite as deep, but still definitely masculine. She only bothers with the falsetto when she's on the clock. “How are you, sweetie? It's been ages.”

“It's been a week,” Yuuki says. “Is this the red dress of legend?”

Mimi-chan grins with all her teeth, brilliantly white in contrast with her dark lipstick.

“You remembered!” she says, and holds out her arms, displaying herself. “What do you think?”

Yuuki considers her. It's a good dress, deep burgundy, with a dramatic flare to the skirt, starting at just the right place to suggest hips nature didn't provide. Her bust, modest compared to those he's seen her with in later evening, is fully covered by the shallow V-neck, exposing only her defined clavicle. She's wearing pearls.

“You're lovely,” he concludes. She gives a little cheer. “But is that bracelet elastic? Didn't you learn your lesson with the black crystal? Who do you think's gonna go crawling around after the pearls when it snaps?”

Mimi-chan's smile turns wicked. “All part of the plan, darling. How else am I gonna get you to bend over for me?”

Yuuki shakes his head, still smiling.

“Still jailbait.” he tells her, then raises his voice enough to carry. “If you want boys bending over for you, I'm sure one of _them_ could oblige.”

He points towards the college guys, still silent in their cluster ten feet away. Mimi-chan looks and considers them.

“Ohhh,” she says. “Good eye, babe. The blond isn't my type, but maybe for you.”

Yuuki actually looks over, for the first time. There are five of them and they are, he concludes, definitely from out of town. The blond is skinny, hair bleached to platinum, in jeans so tight Yuuki isn't sure how he's getting any circulation at all.

“Ugh,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Why me?”

“We both know you aren't picky,” she replies, and Yuuki has to focus to keep from giving them away.  
“ _I_ like a man with some meat on his bones.”

The blond flushes violently, face twisting into something grotesque and, nope, that's it, Yuuki can't do it. He snorts once and then, inevitably, he's giggling and he can't stop. He hears Mimi-chan's 'pffft' and then she pats him briskly on the shoulder as she calls out, “Sorry, boys, you're too early for the show. Come by Cascade, tonight, if you want something worth looking at.”

He hears a squeak of horror, followed by some incoherent, stuttering denials, and he just knows that Mimi-chan did something disgusting at them, he knows it, and a fresh gale of laughter takes him. They're gone when he finally looks up to find Mimi-chan grinning at him.

“Pricks,” he says.

“Seriously,” she agrees. “Like they've never seen a dude in a dress, before.”

“Never one as beautiful as you, clearly,” he says. “But that's a given.”

“Ugh!” She throws up her hands in mock frustration. “Why can't any of the dudes I'm actually into say shit like that?”

“You're adults,” Yuuki says.

“Barely.”

“Nineteen counts,” he insists. “And adults are universally stupid or terrible. That's how it works.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're well on your way to adulthood, too.”

“Probably. I'm aiming for terrible. Terrible people tend to be less miserable than stupid ones.”

Mimi-chan snorts. It's not a ladylike sound.

“Well,” she says. “In that case, your thief buddies'll have to come save you, again.”

“Maybe it'll actually stick, this time.”

They talk a while longer, Yuuki asking about a Shinjuku-based request and Mimi-chan sharing, with obvious relish, just how filled it was. This segues into a description of the most interesting of creeps she's dealt with, recently: asking her to pee or step on them was routine; this was the first time she'd come across both at once.

“He had the shoes with him. They were so cute I almost went for it but I was worried I'd miss his mouth.”

“Would he have minded?”

“Doubt it but the shoes would have. They were suede.”

Yuuki was then treated to a rhapsodic description of the bouncer's musculature rippling as he ejected her suitor. The bouncer was, to her eternal regret, for all practical purposes married to the bar's owner.

“They're super cute,” she says, not for the first time. “But that _back_. Mmm. Shame they're not open.”

“I'm sure your heart will recover.”

“It's not my heart that needs help.”

She takes her leave with an ostentatious wink and Yuuki is left wondering what, exactly, has jogged loose inside his head and which part of the discussion did the jogging. Whatever it is is clanking around, grumbling for attention, so he flips backward through the last fifteen minutes, skimming for hints.

He finds them in the moments after he's explained the kind of adult he aspires to be and shoots off a text to Kurusu without thinking much of it.

**Is it possible to change a heart more than once**

Asking is a formality; Yuuki knows it's possible. He doesn't know how he knows, but it's there in his head, a pristine cube of information, discrete from the rest of his knowledge base, like a gift left on his pillow. And it was _left_ , he thinks. Someone dropped it on their way through his mind. Not the Thieves, their specialty is moral knowledge. This is something else. Who then?

Yuuki comes to the same conclusion he did earlier in the day; no idea, no sense obsessing. It's not like he could stop them, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter the OCs. Full disclosure, Mimi-chan (and her alter ego) is one of three who will have fairly major roles. A fourth has a much more minor part.
> 
> Also, this will come up in a later chapter, but I'll go ahead and clarify any gender identity questions: the drag queens featured are cis men. Their drag personas are referred to by their own names and feminine pronouns. Mimi-chan will show up in civvies later, including masculine name and pronouns. I admit to not knowing much of anything about drag culture as it exists in Japan -- I'm told it's pretty different -- so I'm following the conventions I am familiar with.
> 
> We're looking at a rating hike two chapters from now. If you're not here for porn, beware.


	9. Chapter 9

Yuuki gets a text back from Kurusu maybe an hour after he parts ways from Mimi-chan. He's still in Shinjuku, roaming, now, with the nebulous intention of feeding himself.

 **idk** , it says. **hasnt come up. why**

 **Just curious** he lies, and goes back to responding to Akechi. His message came in just before Kurusu's, offering to join Yuuki after he's finished with – whatever it is he's doing. The idea of meeting up with the Charismatic Detective in Shinjuku amuses him, so Yuuki agrees. He's tempted to take him to Cascade, just to see what Mimi-chan makes of him, but that would probably be mean.

Nevertheless, once he's swallowed some mediocre ramen, he takes himself there, plugs his phone into the charging dock on the counter, and gets on with the eternal cycle of banning trolls, deleting spam, and, more rarely, boosting actual legitimate request posts on the Phan Site.

Even if the Thieves can't help everybody, he tries to make sure their voices are heard, if only by each other.

There aren't many people in Cascade, at this time of day – not in the basement bar, at least. Ground level is a restaurant that's typically busy and that Yuuki often half-considers patronizing. Somehow he always ends up downstairs, drinking soda, eating edamame or karaage, and leaving as soon as he starts needing to count to tell how many other customers there are.

The daytime bartenders are used to him, and mostly leave him alone, but one of them passes on information from time to time. She's not on, today, and the guy who is – Keisuke – had never shown any interest in Yuuki or what he does with his phone. It's pretty nice.

Akechi texts him right on schedule, saying he's at the station and asking where Yuuki is.

 **A bar** , he responds, seeing no reason to dissemble. **We can meet wherever tho want me to come there**

 **Don't tell me you work at Crossroads, too,** Akechi shoots back. Yuuki smirks.

 **If only i hear kurusu makes bank.** He sends this, shoots a look at Keisuke, who's still ignoring him, and sends another. **Cascade lower level**

And so it is that, not many minutes later, Yuuki is in fact meeting Akechi Goro in a bar in Shinjuku. He is delighted.

“Fair warning,” he says, in greeting. “My – uh – acquaintance, Mimi-chan, comes on shift later. We'll want to leave before then.”

Akechi pauses in the act of sitting down, looks at Yuuki with eyebrows slightly raised.

“I see,” he says, and finishes settling himself. “Is this Mimi-chan in some way objectionable?”

“Nah, she's cool. Just a little – excitable.”

Akechi looks amused. “I had no idea your social circle was so diverse,” he says.

“Not all requests start on the forums,” he tells him, because it's not like it's a secret. “People talk. I listen. Sometimes, they give posting a shot. Sometimes, I do it for them. Mimi-chan was probably the third or fourth person I met tracking information on this one club owner a month or so ago.”

“I don't recall a club owner,” Akechi says.

“You wouldn't. There was nothing technically illegal about what he was doing.”

Keisuke approaches, hiking one eyebrow as he obviously recognizes Akechi, though his expression is otherwise unchanged. Akechi orders tea and he moves away again without incident.

“So, what 'meeting' were you at?” Yuuki says, taking the opportunity to shift gears. From the look Akechi gives him, it's not a subtle transition. Yuuki doesn't care. “You said you were laying low, last time. Don't tell me you risked the rabble to get your spotlight back.”

“Ah,” Akechi says. “No. I didn't 'risk the rabble', though I'm hardly likely to be tarred and feathered in the street.”

Yuuki gives a doubtful hum.

“Critiquing the Phantom Thieves is not a capital offense,” Akechi says, sounding more amused than irritated. Yuuki holds up his hands.

“I didn't say a word.”

“You think very loudly.”

Yuuki smiles. “That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”

“I don't imagine there's a great deal of competition.”

“The time you said I wasn't boring was pretty good.”

Akechi waits until Keisuke has laid out his tea and left them alone to speak again.

“Capital punishment aside,” he says, and crosses one leg over the other, both hands curling at once around his cup, “it wasn't an interview. It was a meeting. I am still a detective, you know, and there are cases that don't involve the Phantom Thieves.”

“And you work on them?”

Akechi's smile has the edge of a smirk to it, mouth curling with unwarranted smugness.

“I can't go into specifics, of course,” he says, “but there are still mental shutdowns and unexplained rampages to look into.”

“And that's _not_ related to the Phantom Thieves,” Yuuki asks, before he's aware he plans to ask anything. He blinks; Akechi blinks back.

“Do you disagree?” he asks.

Yuuki focuses inward, for a moment, searching for this second stray bauble of knowledge he's found rolling around his mind. He had it for just an instant before it slipped away, again, and caught the outline of its shape.

“No,” he says. “But the whole 'messing with peoples' minds' thing. You've drawn a connection before.”

Akechi is watching him, lips curled up at the corners.

“So I have,” he says. “I had no idea you paid so much attention to my interviews.”

“Something about keeping your enemies close,” Yuuki says. Akechi gives him a sigh of mock wistfulness.

“And here I thought you enjoyed my company. Heart-breaking.”

“Would you rather I break it or steal it?” It takes longer than it should for Yuuki to recall the non-Thief related connotations of heart-stealing. Then, he says, “Uh.”

Akechi laughs.

“I'll get back to you on that,” he says, and mercifully moves on. “I take it you disagree with my assessment of the mental shutdowns?”

“Eh, not entirely?” Yuuki shrugs. “I don't believe for a second that _they_ had anything to do with it, but the fact that they found a way to alter peoples' consciousness means someone else could, too. Someone who has, if you'll recall, been operating a hell of a lot longer.” Akechi still looks amused.

“Just how many criminals are there,” he asks, “with the power to alter minds?”

“Still not the detective,” Yuuki reminds him. “And who's to say everyone would use it for crime? Maybe there's somebody running around playing matchmaker with an iron fist.”

Akechi huffs. “We'll begin the search,” he says, “with unusually successful marriage counselors.”

“Not a bad business model. I'd invest.”

Akechi actually laughs.

“You're shockingly cynical,” he says. “I somehow thought you would be an idealist.”

“Hell, no,” says Yuuki, appalled. “Why do you even think we need the Thieves? People are terrible. All we'd ever do is hurt each other, if we thought we could get away with it. And I'm not exempting myself, here – hello, change of heart, that happened. We're all shit. Heroes are heroes because they're a little less shit than the rest of us.”

“Less shit.” The profanity doesn't sound as strange as it should in that carefully moderated voice. “But still shit.”

“Unless you've got evidence they're not human,” Yuuki says. “They could be cats, I guess. Ami-chan would probably like stealing hearts, if she got brushed after.”

Akechi shakes his head. 

“You and Kurusu-kun,” he says. “Cat people.”

“Ami-chan will forgive your implied blasphemy if you bring her an offering of catnip.”

“Her benevolence knows no bounds.”

“Right? That's how you can tell she's a princess.”

Akechi lets out that terminally unattractive snort, again, and Yuuki allows himself a moment of smugness. Keisuke approaches and clears their empty cups, eyes flickering from one to the other and back, silent, observing. They linger on Yuuki longer than is called for before Keisuke leaves, again. It's not much but it's enough to raise a spark of irritable self-consciousness.

“Problem?” Akechi asks, and Yuuki realizes that he's still frowning at the bartender's back. He shakes his head.

“Keisuke is known for his discretion,” he says, a little louder than necessary. “If he weren't, I might say you should worry for your reputation.”

Akechi follows his gaze and nods gravely. “I'll bear that in mind,” he says. “Though, at this point, it can hardly get any worse. You have more to worry about than me.”

“Much as I appreciate the pretense that I've got a reputation,” says Yuuki, “we both know that's not true, so it can be safely set aside.”

“We can put them both aside, then. Keisuke needn't be discrete about a boy with no reputation and another that's sullied beyond repair.”

“I'm sure he'll be relieved to hear it.” Yuuki checks his cell phone screen and grimaces. “That being said, there's discretion and then there's Mimi-chan. We'll want to get moving, soon.”

“Moving where?” asks Akechi.

“I don't care. Not here.” He considers the matter. “My parents left town, this morning. Wanna hang out there? You can fall asleep on the couch and I'll ask invasive personal questions.”

“Sounds delightful,” Akechi says, and waves Keisuke – grimmer than ever but still a professional – over to pay.

 

Back at Yuuki's apartment, they pass through the living area and up the stairs without pausing as he leads the way to his room.

“No grand tour?” Akechi asks, amused.

“The bathroom's there,” Yuuki tells him, gesturing as they pass. “What else do you need to know?”

“Even when you're home alone,” Akechi says, more a statement than a question, “do you spend all your time in your room?”

“I live here,” he replies, pushing open his bedroom door. “That doesn't make it my apartment.”

He hits the lock without thinking about once they're both inside. Akechi glances back when the click reaches him and they both look back. Yuuki twitches the knob to disengage the lock but leaves it closed. 

“Habit,” he says.

“I wasn't going to ask.”

“So polite.”

“Not really. I _was_ going to ask where you eat your meals.”

Yuuki shrugs and drops onto his bed. Ami-chan is a lump of fuzz on the pillow. Her eyes flick from him to Akechi and close, again, disinterested.

“Out,” he says. “S'why I'm broke all the time. When they're out, I can cook but I'm awful at it and doing dishes sucks.”

Akechi, having taken over his desk chair, concurs. “But one gets in the habit,” he adds, “living alone.”

Yuuki's face scrunches in distaste. “Rub it in,” he says.

“Not at all,” says Akechi. “It's hardly possible, given that you, for all practical purposes, also appear to live alone, but without the benefit of a kitchen.”

“Mm, okay, fair.” Yuuki smiles. “But I've got Ami-chan.”

Akechi considers the fur pile appropriating the pillow. “So I see,” he says. “My building won't allow pets. Does she always stay in here?”

“Pretty much. Her bowls and box are here. She'll wander around when I leave the door open but she doesn't seem to like it downstairs. If I stay down there too long she starts screaming.”

Akechi's nose wrinkles. “Charming,” he says.

“She is.” Yuuki lifts his legs onto the bed and folds them beneath himself. “So, I think you said something about invasive personal questions.”

Akechi's eyebrows lift. “I think you said that, actually.”

“You didn't argue,” Yuuki says, mildly. “And you won't have any problem telling me to fuck off, I'm sure. But charismatically.”

Akechi hooks one knee over the other and settles back in the desk chair, arms folded.

“Hmm,” he says. “I suppose. I made no promise as to actually answering but I'm intrigued to know what you consider 'invasive'. Go ahead.”

“Have you been changed?” Yuuki throws out, without thinking, then furrows his brow. “By which I mean – change of heart, berserker episode? I assume you haven't had a mental shutdown.”

Akechi huffs, eyes narrowing, lips curling up in amusement.

“You assume correctly,” he says, “as I am currently ambulatory and aware of my surroundings. Feel free to extend it. To my knowledge, no one but me can control my heart and mind.”

“Eh, dull,” says Yuuki. “You say 'can'. You think the Thieves can't get to you?”

Akechi shrugs. “I don't think I'm distorted. No more than the human baseline, anyway. Disagreeing with their methods isn't a distortion, nor is working with law enforcement. I don't see what they could 'get to me' for.”

“Human baseline is pretty distorted.”

“Perhaps. But singling me out wouldn't track with their 'justice' theme. I'm not a threat to anyone but them and I don't have anyone under my power to exploit. Their sole saving grace is this veneer of righteousness, of judgment from on high. Using the same means simply to evade capture seems questionable.”

Yuuki considers. “Questionable,” he says.

“To say the least.”

“Hmm.” Yuuki looks at Akechi, head lightly tilted, and takes in the slender hands, now folded in his lap, the fall of auburn hair around his face, the way that face is still so carefully set, even when he's not being pleasant for his public.

“Have you ever had sex?” Yuuki asks and Akechi chokes on an inhale and starts coughing. Yuuki watches, eyebrows raised. “I can't tell if that's a 'no',” he says, “or a 'yes', with an added plea not to ask about it. Which is fine, I won't. I'm just curious.”

“About _that_?” Akechi demands, pink in the face.

“Yeah? I mean, we're doing invasive personal questions, aren't we? And all I know about your grand drama is that your dad is shitty and that seemed like a bad place to start.”

Akechi huffs. “I have no idea why I'm going along with this.”

“Me neither,” says Yuuki.

“So long as we're on the same page.” Akechi closes his eyes, as if in pain. “No,” he says, at last. “I haven't.”

Yuuki hums again. “Me neither,” he says. “Once again, we're on the same page. Or maybe missing the same pages out of the 'necessary life experiences' chapter.”

“Is sex really necessary?” Akechi asks, eyes still closed. Yuuki shrugs anyway.

“I haven't dropped dead, yet,” he says. “But who knows? Maybe if I stay a virgin long enough I _will_ drop dead.”

“I'm not a doctor,” Akechi tells hims, and now he sounds pained, “but I don't think that's how it works.”

“Suicide by celibacy. No one can get pissed at me for that.”

Akechi finally opens his eyes, expression now tinged with exasperation. “I think you should know,” he says, “that people who talk or make jokes about suicide are, statistically speaking, more likely to attempt suicide. It's considered a key warning sign in the mental health field.”

Yuuki blinks at him, slowly. It means 'so?' but also 'we've been over this'. Akechi continues.

“I recommend toning it down when you speak with Kurusu. I've no doubt he's done the same research, by now.”

“Is that what you do?” Yuuki asks. “Don't mention it and hope no one asks?” He knows, senses it as sure as he can sense his own trailing failures, that Akechi hates himself. “Not a bad strategy,” he adds. “Misdirection.”

“Whereas you prefer camouflage.” It's a response but not an answer.

“We've all got our thing. Do you even believe in justice?”

Akechi doesn't answer for one-two-three beats. Ami-chan mumble-purrs in her sleep.

“As an abstract concept,” he says, at last. “Yes. It's a beautiful theory.”

“But in practice?”

“Any system that we create to enact it will have a fatal flaw: it will be administered by humans. A pale approximation is the best we can hope for.”

“And is that what we have?” Yuuki asks, because the system as he knows it doesn't approximate much but fetid horseshit.

“Not even close,” Akechi says, and that's the end of that topic.


	10. Chapter 10

It's sometime around ten PM that Yuuki tells Akechi he's welcome to crash for the night. Akechi accepts this inelegant invitation, lips quirked, eyes narrowed, amusement in his tone. His apartment is on the way to his school from here, he says; there's no harm. Yuuki goes on a quest to find the guest futon, buried in a closet since his parents resentfully allowed an older cousin to stay for a weekend, when Yuuki was nine or so. The cousin was starting university, he thinks, but it's blurry, other than giving up his bed for a near-stranger with a strange accent, and the grim lines of his parents' faces over dinner. He frowns, shakes off the half-memory, and returns to his room.

He doesn't think much of undressing in front of Akechi. They're on his turf, in his room, he's spent years in locker rooms, and now he has no bruises to hide. There's nothing to think about. He tosses his shirt to the laundry hamper by the dresser and pulls open a drawer.

“I know you're taller than me,” he says, “but one of these should fit, at least.” He trails his fingers over the top t-shirt in the stack – there's a volleyball on it, of course – then flips it over and begins to sort through them. Why does he have so many volleyball shirts, still? Well, he knows the answer to that; for so long, that was the only thing worth knowing about him. Now there's not anything left.

Akechi's hands touch his waist, then. He's not expecting it, has never expected that, and he jolts in his skin, gives a sharp inhale. He looks down to see, and there they are, curled just above his hips, long fingers strange against his skin. He looks pale, beneath those fingers; they're so often gloved but it's rarer still that Yuuki is shirtless in the sun. He swallows.

“Hey,” he says, soft, like a greeting.

Akechi's hands tighten, holding on rather than resting against. Yuuki watches as they press into him, fascinated by the give of his own skin under the pressure of another person's touch.

“Is this okay?” Akechi asks him, soft as that initial touch. Yuuki swallows again, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Th – this is fine.”

“If I do anything that isn't,” Akechi says, “you're to tell me.”

Yuuki feels his eyes go wide, feels his own pulse begin to pound in his neck.

“Okay,” he says. “I will.”

He hears a brief huff of breath behind him.

“Good,” Akechi says. “Thank you.”

“N-no problem – ” Yuuki cuts off with a low gasp as Akechi's hands move. They slide up first, light, caressing against his ribcage; then down, again, and settle firm on the upper curves of his hips. His thumbs move, trailing across the tender dip of his waist, back and forth, and Yuuki feels his face burn.

“Ah – Akechi – ”

Akechi pauses. “No?” he says.

“No,” says Yuuki, then his own hands are on Akechi's, stilling them before they can lift away. “I mean, no, not – no, I mean, it's okay, you aren't – it's good.” His eyes squeeze shut, uninterested in witnessing his own embarrassment. “It's just – different, is all.”

There's a pause. Yuuki's hands are still on Akechi's, which are still on him, foreign and warm. The feeling is burned into Yuuki's mind whether he wants it or not and he's not quite sure which it is, just yet.

Further input needed.

Slowly, Akechi's thumbs begin to mark their gentle arc, again.

“People don't touch you much,” he says. Yuuki laughs, his voice weak.

“Never,” he says. “Kurusu hugged me, once? But, other than that, there's been – Kamoshida?”

“I don't know if that qualifies.”

“I hope not,” says Yuuki. “This – is nice.”

He hears Akechi take a breath, let it out.

“I'll tell you,” Akechi says, “because you have no standing to mock me. I have no idea what I'm doing.”

“I don't know what you're doing, either,” Yuuki replies. “But you can – ” His warm face gets warmer. “Continue,” he says. “If you want?”

“That sounds like a question,” Akechi notes. He stops petting to cup the swell of each hip and squeezes. Yuuki's breath hitches. “I want,” Akechi says, very softly, and his hands return to their starting place, nestled at his waist. “But I don't know how _to_ continue.”

“How about – ” Yuuki stops, one hand brushing Akechi's elbow behind him. He'd forgotten. “Hey, take your shirt off,” he says. “This isn't fair.”

“Does it have to be?”

“It's _gonna_ be.” He thinks he hears Akechi laugh.

“Okay,” he says, and his hands fall away. “I understand.”

Yuuki turns his head, peeking back as Akechi's button-up is loosened, his undershirt tossed aside. He looks forward, again. He doesn't need to see that; he can imagine it just fine. (He can't blush any more than he already is but kind of feels like it.)

Akechi's hands are back on his hips. They squeeze, gently, and Yuuki doesn't pay much attention to his own body, has never felt anything like this, and his breath shudders in his lungs.

“Ah,” he says, and covers Akechi's hands with his own, again. “How about – ” He draws them awkward around himself, gasps when Akechi gets the idea and moves in close.

Akechi against him is a shock, smooth and cool, his body made of muscle and bone, and Yuuki can feel his solidity, his reality, can feel his nipples peaked from the chill of the room, the underlying heat that will soon meet Yuuki's own and warm them both. His arms are strong, lightly corded with muscle, and they hold him, encase him, one snug at his waist, the other curling underneath, hand against the opposite hip, pressing in. Yuuki doesn't look, keeps his eyes closed, and leans back, lets his head fall against Akechi's shoulder, turns his face into his neck. He can feel bare skin against his cheek and it's so, so strange.

“Oh,” he says.

“Yeah,” says Akechi, almost a whisper. His nose nudges Yuuki's hairline. “Can I – ?”

“Please. Go ahead.”

Akechi's arms close tighter around him, hands spreading, grasping, and they're so _close_ , Yuuki thinks. No one has ever been so close to him. Not since the day he was born.

“Thanks,” says Akechi, and it takes Yuuki a moment to register that there are lips pressed full to his temple, and by then they are moving, nuzzling into his cheekbone, his ear, farther, wet little kisses trailing down the side of his face. He feels Akechi's tongue probe the tender hollow hidden by his earlobe and hears himself whimper. He never knew he had so many nerve endings.

Akechi grips him somehow tighter, runs the tip of his tongue along the crevice between his ear and his skull, and Yuuki can hear heavy breathing over his own pathetic little gasps.

He's hard, he realizes, dimly, straining against his cargo pants, harder than maybe he's ever been in his life. But Akechi is hard, too, dick an obvious, solid presence against Yuuki's ass. Yuuki pushes his hips back into it by some perverse instinct and Akechi groans into his ear and grinds into him.

“Fuck,” he says. “Mishima-kun – ”

“You can call me Yuuki,” Yuuki says, inanely. “I think we're there.”

“ _Yuuki_ ,” Akechi says, and then the hand clutching his hip is groping his dick and Yuuki moans.

“Fuck,” he says. “ _Fuck._ ”

Akechi's hand is heavy against him, all heat and pressure, rubbing through the front of his pants while Akechi's dick is still moving hard against his ass, and this is going so fast, escalating so quickly, and Yuuki doesn't mind, exactly, but he can't think so it's impossible to say for sure.

Yuuki grabs a handful of Akechi's hair, too tight, and the moan that reverberates against the crook of his neck is unexpected and delicious. He pulls, unthinking, mouth watering, and Akechi moans, again, longer and lower, stops feeling up Yuuki's erection to cling to him instead. _That's such a good sound._

The thought falls out of his mouth and he feels Akechi tense against him. A bad tension. Yuuki takes the moment to twist in his arms. He shoves both hands deep into Akechi's hair and makes eye contact, direct and determined, and Yuuki is absolutely all there in that moment. He's not sure if he's ever been quite so present anywhere, all the wavering pieces of him collected and contained within skin that feels like part of him, too.

Akechi's cheeks are red, his eyes black, mouth wet and softly open. Yuuki catches a glimpse of deep, velvet red, the hard edges of teeth, then meets his eyes again.

“I'm going to kiss you, now,” he says.

Akechi's hands are vice tight on his hips. It almost hurts. It feels good.

“Right,” Akechi says. “Yes.”

Yuuki nods once.

“Cool,” he says, and drags him in.

Their height difference is more obvious, now, and the first moments are an awkward scramble to figure out how their bodies ought to fit. Yuuki rises onto his toes, unthinking, and it's not sustainable until Akechi winds his arms around him and draws him in flush, supporting his weight while Yuuki seeks out the best angle to attack his mouth.

Akechi is _warm_ , Yuuki marvels, in his head, safe from judgment. His body and his breath and the very follicles of his hair, tangling around Yuuki's fingers, seem to radiate heat and his mouth, god his mouth, might be the best of it. His lips are soft, pliant and smooth, with texture enough to produce a delightful friction as they drag against Yuuki's own. Everything gets to wet, when those lips part against his, it's surreal. Another person's tongue and teeth, getting so intimately acquainted with his own, he was almost ready for, had considered before, albeit as an unlikely hypothetical. The idea that other mouths might be as wet as his own had never crossed his mind and the sensation is fascinating, worth investigating.

He lets go of Akechi's hair and wraps his arms right around his neck, trying so hard to get closer. The kiss breaks as Akechi stumbles back, catching himself on one foot, and Yuuki squeaks and breaks away, hastily finding his own balance.

The separation is startling, his brain struggling along with his body to adapt to not being kissed, not being touched, after what might have been a lifetime against another person's skin.

Akechi's face, when he can focus, is very pink, swollen lips half-obscured by ginger fingertips. His eyes are wide and bright and when Yuuki meets them, his cheeks flush deeper.

“We should – sit down, maybe?” Yuuki says.

Akechi doesn't respond. Yuuki shifts his weight, ignores his erection, doesn't look for Akechi's.

“If you want to keep going, I mean. We can stop.” That's probably a dumb thing to say. Of course they can stop. Akechi doesn't need permission to _not_ touch him. “It won't,” he begins, aborts, starts again. “That would be okay, too.” Better, he thinks. It'll have to do.

Akechi is quiet for a moment longer. His eyes lower, examining the fingers he'd used to probe his mouth, then he holds that hand out towards Yuuki, palm up.

“I'd like to keep going,” he says, eye shining bright. “If you want to.”

Yuuki huffs, amused, and takes the offered hand.

“Yeah,” he says. “I want to.”

A smile flickers across Akechi's face, there and gone, back into the lake of intensity that is his unguarded expression. He closes his hand around Yuuki's.

“Then we better sit down.”

They move, a little awkwardly, to the bed, where Yuuki nudges Akechi to sit near the pillows. He doesn't exactly know what to do, then, but Akechi puts his back against the wall and reaches out for him, again.

“C'mon,” he says, and Yuuki follows his tug until he's in his lap, knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips. Akechi's hands are on his waist, again. He smiles, feels himself go red.

“Hey,” he says, and reaches out, uncertain, as he watches Akechi's face. It's flushed, still, and his burgundy eyes are rapt on Yuuki's hands as they decide where to settle. He skims his fingertips first along his jaw, the arc of it pale and sharp, then down the sides of his smooth neck, to rest on his bare shoulders. He watches, fascinated, as his own thumbs caress Akechi's clavicle, and feels the sudden urge to bite down on it.

He resists, for the moment, and instead leans in, slow enough Akechi could easily stop him, if he wanted, and presses his mouth to his throat, tilting his head to fit. He feels it when Akechi swallows, the tense and stretch of muscle and tendons beneath soft skin, and he trails his lips down, not breaking contact, relishing the gentle friction. Akechi's fingers flex against his waist and his breathing, cloth-soft and shuddering, ruffles Yuuki's hair.

Yuuki reaches his clavicle and that same baseless urge rises in him and, this time, he thinks, _fuck it_ and parts his lips to fit his teeth around the slender bone. Akechi gasps and Yuuki bites down, just a little, just enough, and the faint give of fragile skin between tooth and bone is too delicious to resist. Yuuki seals his lips around the spot and sucks.

Akechi gasps, again, but it has the distinct edges of a squeal. One of his hands flies to Yuuki's hair and grips it, not pulling him away holding on, and Yuuki moans as he licks his now-favorite spot, sliding his tongue over it, curling to fit its shape, mapping it with his mouth before he bites down again, still gently, but this time Akechi moans and his hips buck and Yuuki remembers very quickly Akechi's erection and his own.

_Right,_ he thinks, as his dick takes the moment to violently protest this neglect. _Oughta deal with that. Do something_ other _than chew on him._ He draws back enough to see Akechi's glazed eyes and slack mouth and thinks that, with this kind of reception, he might be allowed back for a repeat performance.

Yuuki's hands drop to waistband of Akechi's slacks and linger. He licks his lips, watching Akechi's face.

“Can I?” he asks, voice softer than he means, loud in the silence heretofore filled by wordless gasps. Akechi's fingers slips from his hair, curl around his nape, and Yuuki's next breath shakes. He sees Akechi swallow.

“Go ahead,” he says.

Yuuki drops his eyes to see what he's doing, feels himself shiver as the reality of it sets in. His hands move, begin working open the button and zipper from this unfamiliar angle, then stop when Akechi's grip on his neck and waist tighten.

“And, Yuuki,” he says.

Yuuki can't meet his eyes but looking up through his lashes catches softly curled lips. His stomach flips.

“Yeah?”

Akechi tugs, puts Yuuki's forehead against his bitten clavicle and his mouth to Yuuki's ear.

“You can call me Goro.”

He's trying to be cool, Yuuki can feel it, can hear it, but from his close he can also his pounding heart, hear the waver in his voice. He smiles and tugs his zipper down.

“Thanks,” he says. “I'll do that.”

And then he lifts his head and kisses Goro hard, once again.

 

Sometime in the dark hours between having sex or the first time and getting up to go to school the next morning, Yuuki and Goro have a conversation. It seems banal, in the moment, but Yuuki thinks, later, that it was rather remarkable.

“They said Wednesday, so it'll probably be Wednesday,” he mumbles, cheek still smashed into the pillow, eyes half-closed. Goro was propped on one elbow, tapping Yuuki's exposed cheekbone with one finger, and asked about his parents. Goro was weird. Yuuki told him so.

“Possibly,” Goro says. “I think I'd like to meet them.”

Yuuki shifts to look up at him. “Wait,” he says. “What?”

Goro's tapping finger turns into a palm cradling his jaw. His face is impassive, at first glance, but the edges of his mouth twist as Yuuki watches, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Yuuki glares.

“Are you gonna do something stupid?” he asks. “Like be pleasant at them then ask about my dowry?”

“I'm still in the planning stages. That could certainly be added. How much would it be?”

“A lot, probably. I might have indicated they're not thrilled about having me around, so if you're willing to take me off their hands – ” He stops there and shrugs.

“You did,” Goro says, “mention something of the kind.” His thumbs runs over Yuuki's lips, too firm to be incidental. Yuuki swallows. “That's why I think it might be interesting to bring you to their notice in new ways. Has my fall from grace extended to their lofty social strata?”

His thumb is still resting against the corner of Yuuki's mouth and Yuuki finds it hard to concentrate on anything else.

“I – uh – I doubt it,” he says. “They aren't – they aren't big on thieves?”

Goro smiles. It's not a nice smile and when he leans down, it tastes like devilry.

“All right,” he says, when the kiss ends. “Next time they have guests, send word. I'll come by – ah – unexpectedly. Though once they're home, we ought to start going to my apartment. If we plan to need privacy, I mean.”

Yuuki stares a little longer, processing this – processing the information, the request, the invitation, and the question hidden within. It takes several long moments to untangle it all but once he does, he narrows his eyes.

“I'm not getting arrested for indecent exposure,” Yuuki says. “So, yeah, we're gonna need privacy.”

Goro's kiss lasts much longer, this time.

Between that quite remarkable conversation and leaving for school, the next morning, Yuuki has sex with Goro for the second time, secure in the knowledge there is going to be a third.


	11. Chapter 11

Yuuki thinks about sex on his commute. It's not actually something he does, much. His libido is an uncertain thing, lying dormant for weeks at a time before roaring to life for weeks more, but it's slept longer and deeper since high school began, since volleyball training started up, first year. It's surfaced in fits and starts, since, and not at all since his change of heart.

It's a little pathetic, he thinks, that all it took was one touch to get him interested, again.

He wonders, then, how the hell Goro is attracted to him. He is – Yuuki can't really dispute that, now that he's discovered what a shit liar the guy is once he gets off script – but it still doesn't make much sense. Yuuki is aware of what he looks like, and it's mostly pretty boring.

_Maybe that's it. Maybe he's into being the most interesting person in the room._

Yuuki doubts that, though. Goro made it pretty clear how he felt about 'boring' and told Yuuki straight up that he wasn't. So maybe what he's into is 'not boring' but that's not a description at all.

Well, whatever. It doesn't matter, much. Goro's a weird guy with weird taste in guys. That fits.

He has earbuds in, not actually listening to anything so much as covering for his habitual eavesdropping, and his fingers trail down the cord as he thinks this, then back up again.

Yuuki is awkward with his body but not mortified by it, aware the muscle tone he gained during his disastrous athletic career is fading, form gone slender but soft, leaving him at the mercy of his hips, their curve no longer balanced by firm planes elsewhere. He'd mind more if he didn't have other things to worry about, if he hadn't spent so long in locker rooms, if every aspect of his personhood hadn't been methodically stripped away and ground into dust. He isn't a person, not really, has difficulty comprehending himself as connected with the physical world, so what he looks like doesn't matter.

It matters to Goro, he supposes, and smiles to himself. At least his hips do. Nice that the one note-worthy thing about his appearance – the one Mimi-chan takes envious or lascivious note of every time they meet – is also the one his first (only?) sexual partner seems most powerfully drawn to.

As he gets off the train and moves towards the school, he remembers that first startled moment, Goro's hands on his waist. He remembers how they moved, restrained hunger in his touch, and how his fingers looked digging into his hips, their contrasting shades of pale.

A bag knocks into his shoulder, another student rushing past, and Yuuki catches himself, foot coming down hard in a puddle left by some predawn shower. He watches the water settle, half-obscured by his sneaker, and is aware of himself, suddenly and strangely.

There's cool air on his face – it feels good – and forearms, but the rest of him is packed away, wrapped and stifled by the uniform. (He hates the uniform but he hates attention from teachers more, so his wardrobes violations, while not as flashy as Sakamoto's, are sometimes more severe. He fantasizes about being sent home, sometimes. He needs new fantasies.) He tugs at his collar, rolls his shoulders, and moves out of the path towards the gate. He's so stiff, he realizes, and begins stretching, the kind he did when he was younger and moved because he enjoyed it, not because he feared staying still.

Once his arms and shoulders and hands have loosened, he relaxes back into the wall behind him. A breeze drifts across his face and he smiles.

It's nice being real, sometimes.

The student council president catches his eye from her post by the gate.

_Delightful._

When did that word get into Yuuki's vocabulary?

He shakes off the thought and manages less of a smirk as she approaches.

“Mishima-kun,” she says.

“Niijima-senpai,” he returns. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She folds her arms over her chest and he notes that he's closer to her height than Kurusu's. “How are you?” She looks far too grim for pleasantries.

“Um. Fine?” he tries. “I was just thinking it feels nice out here. I – uh – I will be in class on time.”

He assumes he will. She's still out here, and the parade of Shujin uniforms behind her is still going strong.

“Well,” she says, and pauses. “Good.” A hint of pink rises in her cheeks. “How was your weekend?” she snaps, so loud it's a demand, and Yuuki's cheeks flare despite himself. Does the student council president know he lost his virginity? Is she _asking_ him about it? He falls back on incoherence to escape this horrifying prospect.

“I – what? What?” he says.

“What?” she says.

“I don't know!” he shoots back. “What?”

“I asked you!”

There are people looking, now. People looked at his not-fight with Takamaki, too. He's focused enough to feel self-conscious, this time, and buries his face in his hands.

“I said, 'what',” he tells her. “Like, why are you asking about my weekend? You've never asked about my weekend before.”

He peers at her between his fingers. Her face is redder than before, but her jaw is set, her shoulders squared, and no matter how mortified she clearly it, she's not backing down from – whatever this is.

“Well, I'm asking you now,” she says. “As student council president, it's my job to ensure the well-being of my fellow students.” She averts her eyes for only a split second before bringing them back to his face. “I have failed in that duty, in the past. I don't intend to do so again.” She takes a breath, lets it out. “So, tell me. How was your weekend?”

The problem – one of the problems – is, the Phantom Thieves aren't subtle. Their MO is flash and drama. They want their target to know about them, they want the world to know about them, and Yuuki is pretty sure that anyone with functioning eyes and ears could've come to the same conclusions he did, had they been in the PE faculty lounge with Kurusu and Sakamoto, the day Suzui jumped. It wasn't so much a mystery to solve as a linear progression to observe, by which Yuuki means that Niijima-senpai is pretty obviously a Phantom Thief and Kurusu (or Sakamoto or Alibaba) has told her that he's been talking Goro and that she – cares about that. Somehow. There's a disconnect, there. It's one thing to know that Niijima-senpai is a Thief; it's another to face down the immediate reality of the student council president taking an interest in his sex life.

“Good!” he says, and flinches, because terror has boiled up within him, forcing his voice towards octaves he was never meant to reach. He coughs, clears his throat, coughs again, and tries again. “Good,” he says, in a marginally more acceptable rasp. “It was good! My weekend was good. How was yours, Niijima-senpai?”

“Huh?” She looks startled, like she's never had a pleasantry turned back around on her. “Oh, uh, fine,” she says. “It was – quiet?”

“Quiet weekend are the best, aren't they?” Yuuki says, and pushes himself off the wall. “I mean, I spent a couple of hours in Shinjuku, but other than that – ” He shrugs. “I should head to class. Bye, Niijima-senpai,” he calls, and takes off, not looking back, wishing he couldn't feel his heart pounding in his throat.

 

Throughout that day, Yuuki exchanges texts with Kurusu. The first he sends, furious and locked in a bathroom stall, reads, **WHY is Niijima interested in my social life all of a sudden????** Kurusu's response – **how should i know** – prompts fantasies of punching him in the face, or maybe accusing him a particularly embarrassing offense on the Phan Site.

Abandoning his usual polite fiction of ignorance, Yuuki shoots back, **Im not actually stupid and you guys are about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the face a vocal minority of students think HER heart got changed just fyi**

There's a long pause before Kurusu responds, again.

**they arent wrong. she did it herself tho**

Yuuki sighs. _This is dumb,_ he thinks, and heads for homeroom, still typing.

**Im happy for her why does she suddenly care what i do on the weekend**

**shes concerned about you? idk**

**Did you tell her to be concerned**

**no**

**What did you tell her and if you try and be an evasive dick about it ill just ask alibaba.**

Typing her name works as a summoning charm; her message comes through before Kurusu's response.

Yuuki steps into the classroom, a few minutes left before homeroom, to see Takamaki turned in her seat, one elbow braced on Kurusu's desk as they talk. Whatever.

He switches to Alibaba's thread. He changes her contact name to mundane insults periodically but it always reverts in a few hours, usually accompanied by messages filled with angry emoji. There are three above her most recent message.

**i told her our lead support is out having bro time w our worst nightmare**

**I dont even know where to start with that**

**how about “””SORRY FOR MAKING YOU WORRY ALIBABA ILL STOP BEING A DUMBASS NOW HOW CAN I EVER MAKE IT UP YOU???????”””**

**I was actually wondering if you really think he does 'bro time'**

**idk what boys do 2gether**

**Depends on the boys some play video games**

**Kurusu and sakamoto go to the gym**

**Goro and i ask each other invasive personal questions**

Kawakami comes into the room about then. He's already switched his phone to silent and slides it casually into his desk as the second or third iteration of **WHAT** appears on the screen.

In the pause between homeroom and first period, he notes he has texts from two other sources but doesn't bother checking them. Instead, he scrolls through Alibaba's lengthy, baffled diatribe. It can be easily summarized in two questions.

**Ill answer one of those** he shoots back, **if you tell me how a single high school student can be your worst nightmare**

Her response isn't immediate. Yuuki waits one, two, three beats, without closing the window. She'll know if he does, Yuuki thinks, and it feels important.

Her answer, when it comes, is fractured, each piece weighted to the screen by its own significance.

**we told you hes dangerous**

**you know hes dangerous**

**why cant you trust us**

Yuuki examines the words, thoughtful, and some part of him observes he's stepped out of himself, again, back into the void, aware of but not one with reality. It's a good question she's asking.

A notification banner slides into view then back out, again – another new text, from someone other than Alibaba. He can deal with that later. She's asked him a good question and he wants to answer.

**I trust the Phantom Thieves** he tells her, and puts his phone away, again.

He spends lunch in the library, out in plain view of the world. At his back is the only other table in use, with one girl reading manga while two more huddle together over a messy sprawl of notes, mumbling and cursing, the anthem of the last-minute cram. The diligent after-school library crowd might ignore Niijima or Kurusu or whoever if they came to find him, but at this time of day it's only the desperate and the anti-social, and they're rarely above being nosy. Yuuki wonders which group he's in.

His texts from Kurusu read, in order:

**im not trying to be**

**can you actually just like text her whenever she wouldnt let me at first**

**shes probly better to talk to neway i didnt have much to do w it**

**are you texting her**

**can we talk**

The first three are tightly grouped, all within two minutes; the fourth and fifth have longer gaps, with the final time stamp placing it after class started, and after Yuuki's parting shot to Alibaba. She still hasn't replied to that. He tries not to be disappointed because, really, why should she? They don't even know each other.

He texts Kurusu back.

**About what**

The final message – and this is more of a workout than his inbox has gotten in ages, who knew self-destruction was such a social endeavor – is from Goro.

**I have to work until this evening, but were you interested in meeting after?**

Alibaba is definitely spying on his texts. Or she can. Whether she actually is, at any given moment, is questionable, but Yuuki's going with the assumption nothing is private, anymore.

**Sure did you make it on time this morning**

Goro responds more quickly than Yuuki expects. Maybe he's at lunch, too.

**Yes, there was no trouble. Thank you, again, for your hospitality.**

**Repay me with your body** He fires that off without really thinking, because a text from Kurusu has come through, which reminds him of all the stupid bullshit reasons that he's angry-but-also-not. He hopes Alibaba chokes on it. And all the rest of them, too, once she reports it back to them.

**An intriguing proposition.**

Yuuki smirks at Goro's response. Smug asshole.

**Text me when youre done?** he sends, making a point of the punctuation.

**Yes. Though I'm afraid I may invade your home with case files to review.**

**Sure sounds great lets hang autopsy photos on the fridge**

**Let's not.**

**Youre no fun at all**

**Yes, I know. A tragedy, isn't it?**

Yuuki is considering how best to return this volley when the next message appears.

**I'll see you later, Yuuki.**

The sight of his given name brings a brief wave of satisfaction. Before Kurusu started up, that day on the platform, no one had used it in years, and no one but Goro has his permission. The others just _started_ , that day, like noticing he was broken meant they had some special claim, which was such utter bullshit. He's always been broken and it's never meant a thing.

**Later.**

Conversation done, he flips over to Kurusu's thread. There are two new messages, a minute apart.

**im worried about you**

**and i miss you**

Yuuki frowns down at the screen, brows furrowing.

**Im not going to kill myself** he sends. There's a fairly quick response.

**good i still miss you**

**Whats that supposed to mean**

**it means i never see you anymore**

**were friends arent we**

Yuuki's first instinct is to laugh; in the next he feels sick. He thinks that, somehow, Kurusu really believes that they're friends, or has convinced himself of it. There are so many things he could say here, so many ways to respond. Not responding might be his safest bet but, well, he's not safe. He never has been. Safety is an illusion and everything hurts, anyway.

**Define friends**

**i care about you**

Ugh.

**Thats not much of a definition dude**

**its true**

**i care about you and like spending time with you**

Yuuki thinks Kurusu is either stupid or lying or just really good at self-deception. He was there for them spending time together, okay? Kurusu did not enjoy it.

**Sorry about that** he finally replies. **Im busy today well talk some other time**

**okay**

Yuuki can sense his reluctance through the screen. It takes skill to pack that much expression into four letters. Another message comes through.

**stay safe** it says, and this time Yuuki does laugh.

 

A message from Rini-chan – one of Mimi-chan's coworkers and a reliable source for targets in Shinjuku – comes in during the next period. It's one of those weird, semi-free periods Kawakami has been dropping on them, lately. Yuuki's self-aware enough to know he tends to read into things, but that's gotta have something to do with Kurusu, right? Nobody else skipped over confusion and straight into bomb manufacture after that first baffling 'review' announcement.

(This is what he's doing, Yuuki know. Tanaka told him about it. Tanaka quit the team after their first year and exists in luxurious obscurity, unnoticed by anyone, up to and including the all-knowing Thief who sits within three feet of him for hours at a time, six days a week. But being unnoticed doesn't mean he doesn't notice things, and he passes on what he sees to where it'll be of the most use. He and Yuuki have always had a lot in common.)

Yuuki casts a glance up at where Kawakami is steadfastly writing out a comprehensive list of key words, potentially including those from the course a year ahead, and doesn't bother being subtle about checking Rini-chan's text. The girls beside him have been texting (probably, but not definitely, one another) for the past ten minutes, Takamaki is zoned out staring out the window, with at least three boys and one girl zoned out staring at her, and Yuuki suspects that if he took a look back, Tanaka would be working on his epic, again. His epic _what_ has never been clear, but Yuuki chooses to believe him when he says 'epic' and 'opus' and 'masterwork'. Why not? Epics happen.

**Shithead's name is Taniguchi Daizo.**

Yuuki replies, **Roofie guy?**

**That's the one.**

**How sure are you?**

**Very.**

Yuuki's eyebrows raise fractionally. He waits. After a few long moments, an image loads – a screenshot of a different text conversation. He skims it, then reads again, with careful attention.

Then, he sends Kurusu a text, with only the name.

**Well?** Rini-chan, again.

**Sending it on** he writes back, as his phone buzzes a response. **theyve got this**

**They better.**

Yuuki doesn't bother with a reply. He can tell when a conversation is over.

Kurusu has written, **whos this**

**Hes been drugging and robbing drag queens leaves them in alleys**

**was this on the site**

**No special request**

There's a long pause as Kurusu presumably digests this.

**how much do you trust the source**

Yeah, Yuuki's not sharing that screenshot. Instead, he tells him, **Id stake the phansite on it** because that's the only thing he has that's worth something.

 

He gets another message from Kurusu as he's packing up to leave for the day.

**handling it today where will you be?**

**Shinjuku for a while then home** he replies, then remembers and adds, **I told you I was busy**

**i know just making sure you arent in the line of fire**

Yuuki's brow furrows.

**And where would that be**

**nowhere you mentioned**

“Unhelpful,” Yuuki mumbles. He considers responding with something to that affect, then thinks of something meaner; he screenshots the exchange and sends it to Alibaba, with the caption **Trust**.

He's not expecting a response to that and he doesn't get one.


	12. Chapter 12

Mimi-chan meets Yuuki in the side street near the fortune teller, again, this time by arrangement, and this time it's not actually Mimi-chan but Sawada Tadami.

“Hey,” he says. The same voice from Sawada, in his ratty jeans and loose sweater, was incongruous the first time Yuuki met him after knowing only his alter ego, but he adjusted. They're not so different, really – Mimi-chan's a little louder and faster, maybe, but she's the one who pays the bills.

“Hey,” says Yuuki, and slouches into the wall beside where Sawada stands with his hip cocked. His eyes are tired but watchful.

“News?” he asks.

Yuuki nods, shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Should be done today.”

Sawada shoots him a look. “Today. That's some fast turn around.” He offers a dirty smirk that's still plenty effective, sans lipstick. “Don't tell me my precious baby is doing favors for favors.”

“Ugh.” Yuuki presses a hand to his eyes. “No. God. No, and also, stop that.”

“Mmhm,” Sawada says. “Convincing.” But he drops it. “Any idea how long it'll take?”

Yuuki's hands are in his pockets, again, fisting the fabric. “Not exactly. No more than a few hours. Earliest I've heard of one hitting is like seven PM?”

“Seven PM is good,” Sawada tells him. “We like seven. How about latest?”

“Hard to say.” He shifts where he stands. “As far as I can tell, with – the big ones – there can be kind of a delay? Not that it won't do anything but – ” He pauses, lets his eyes flit and settle, drifting on the skirts of the fortune tellers booth as he continues. “ – with Kamoshida. There was the calling card. And then he vanished for like a week. It was terrifying. And there were all these – weird rumors.” He swallows, shakes it off, looks at Sawada and away again. “And then he confessed. It happened like that with Madarame and Kaneshiro, too. Calling card, withdrawal, confession. Those are the big ones. The others – stalkers and bullies and stuff – those can be instantaneous. I don't know where this one will fall, on that scale.” He swallows, again, licks his dry lips. “But that's just the time until the confession. He shouldn't be dangerous after this.”

There's a pause that drags on for one beat, two beats, three, too long, until even Yuuki can't avoid looking up any longer, and so he does, and he sees Sawada's face, and Sawada looks – confused, or maybe sad, and there's not enough time to parse it before it all shifts to rueful.

“You make it so easy to forget,” he says, “how deep you were mixed into that shit. That first case.”

Yuuki shrugs. “Sorry?”

“It's nothing to apologize for,” Sawada says. “Everyone deals with their shit differently. I guess you with it – like this.” He waves a hand that seems to encapsulate all of Shinjuku, or perhaps all of Japan. “I hope so, anyway,” he adds. “Because otherwise you're not dealing with much of anything.”

Hastily, Yuuki looks away.

“I'll get back to you on that,” he says. Sawada snorts.

“It's not nice to get a lady's hopes up, Mishima-kun. What kind of gentleman are you?”

“If the idea's that gentleman are nice, I guess I'm an ideal one.”

“Oh?” Sawada is smirking. He totally knows where this is going.

“Haven't talked to any ladies,” Yuuki says. “And, well, you've seen me. Nobody's hopes are going higher than your class rank.”

Sawada's gasp, mock-affronted and stage-worthy, and the light backhand to his shoulder, are exactly what Yuuki expected.

“Excuse you!” Sawada says. “How _dare_ you insult my flawless academic record, to say nothing or your equally stellar booty?”

“Can we have one conversation that doesn't involve my ass? Just one?”

“Not until you seal the deal with your prince charming, baby doll. It'll feel neglected.”

“Ugh.”

Sawada relaxes at last, slumping beside him against the wall, looking smug as Yuuki's face scrunches into a scowl. Half of him wants to ask if weird, abrupt grinding with his personal saviors' mortal enemy counts as 'sealing the deal with prince charming'. The other half is probably the half that keeps him from jumping in front of trains.

Though, if he let rip and actually said, that half might loosen its grip. Death by humiliation would take so much longer.

Yuuki remembers what Goro says about reigning in stuff like that and fails to restrain a smile.

“Oh,” says Sawada, ever watchful, ever nosy. “What's _that_ look for?”

Yuuki shakes his head. “Would you believe me if I said I've got people fighting over me?”

“Uh, duh? You're a catch, honey. Mostly your kind of catch doesn't get caught until after high school, but you might have circumstance on your side.”

“You are incorrect,” Yuuki says, vaguely aware that he's never said much about himself to Sawada – or Mimi-chan – before, and that he's watching him closely, now. “And it's not like that, really. It's just some guys at school being weirdos.”

“High school boys generally are.”

“Right? I think I mentioned them in – ah – that interview. How me and two other guys were almost expelled right before the Thieves stepped in. We've hung out a couple times since then, but we aren't really friends, you know? I think they check in because I was such a wreck.”

“Okay.” Sawada's tone is coaxing, noncommital.

“I've been hanging out some with this other guy,” Yuuki goes on. “Who, it turns out, they know, and now, after all these months of making sure I'm breathing and not otherwise giving a shit, my social life has somehow turned into priority one for these guys and all their friends. One of the girls is the student council president and she's spoken to me maybe twice before? But today she came up and asked what I did over the weekend.”

“And what did you do over the weekend?”

Yuuki hesitates. He's kind of forgotten how this would loop around.

“I hung out with the other dude. At – ah – at Cascade, actually.” In his peripheral vision, he can see Sawada freeze. “He had tea. I messed with my phone. It was scandalous.”

“Mishima-kun,” Sawada says.

“Keisuke served us,” Yuuki confirms, voice soft in his mouth. “He never says much to me but he seemed fine. We left before your shift was supposed to start.”

“Mishima,” Sawada says, again.

Yuuki's arms are tight around himself, eyes closed, shoulderblades scraping into the wall behind them as he hunches and shrinks and tries to crush himself into it. He can't feel it but knows it's happening, watching himself break from just outside.

“I don't know,” he hears himself say. “I'm sorry, Sawada-kun, I don't know. It never occurred to me – but when Rini-chan texted – I'm sorry, I'll apologize to Keisuke, and to her, I should have kept a better eye out, I knew what had been happening, I should've thought, I shouldn't – ”

“Mishima!”

There's a hand, gentle against his fingers where they're clenched tight on his own bicep, digging in. As his eyes flutter, Sawada is careful, careful, careful to coax him to a less bruising grip.

“Mishima-kun,” he says, standing closer, now. “You'll hurt yourself. Please, don't.”

Yuuki becomes aware of the tears on his own face and hastily shakes out one shoved-up sleeve to wipe them.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “It's okay, I'm okay.”

“It's cool,” Sawada says, not touching him, anymore. “It's totally cool. I get why – it's scary. I'm scared, too. And I feel – responsible.”

Yuuki stares at him. “You weren't even there,” he says.

“I was supposed to be.” It's Sawada who looks away, now, into the moving crowds further down the street. “If I had been, and Ruby hadn't – Ruby's so new, she doesn't know shit about shit. I might have noticed sooner when he didn't come back from break.”

“Or it might have _been_ you,” Yuuki says. “It probably would have been. Keisuke doesn't even dress up, usually.”

“I know,” says Sawada. “That would have been fine, too. I'd rather – it shouldn't have been Keisuke.”

“It shouldn't have been anyone,” Yuuki replies. “And it's not going to be anyone, anymore. They're going to – the Phantom Thieves will stop him. They'll fix this. They'll keep you safe.”

Yuuki doesn't believe those words even as he says them but they're the ones he lives by, now. Sawada's response is even more familiar.

“Nothing can fix it,” he says. “And I'll never be safe. None of us will.” He smiles, then, soft and sad. “But I appreciate it.”

Yuuki sighs, laughs a little.

“Yeah,” he says. “'Safe' is such bullshit. But we can try and approximate justice, sometimes.”

The look Sawada is giving him, now – gentle but somehow speculative – is interrupted by someone else's voice.

“Yuuki?”

They both look and find the source at once, recognizing it in different ways. Sawada's eyes go wide and he rocks back half a step as Yuuki offers up half a smile.

“Ah, hey, Goro,” he says. “What're you doing here?”

“I've been meeting with precinct police about a series of robberies,” Goro replies, smiling back, stopping beside them at a neutral, but conversational distance. “The culprit just surrendered himself voluntarily. He appears – repentant.”

 _Messy crying,_ Yuuki translates. “Really?”

“Yes,” says Goro. “Go it was lucky running into you. I saw an admin post with the suspect's name in it but no initial request.”

There's a sharp intake of air beside him and Yuuki glances over.

“It's cool, Sawada-kun,” he says. “The police always knew I ran the site.”

“They did?”

Yuuki shrugs. “S'what Goro said.”

Goro's smile it gentle, polite. “Ah, yes. I'm sorry, that was very rude of me.” He bows briefly to Sawada. “I'm Akechi Goro. I work with the police. Are you a friend of Yuuki's?”

“I already know who you are,” Sawada says, flat, baffled.

Goro's smile doesn't falter as he raises one hand to fluff his auburn hair. Yuuki thinks, idly, that less than twenty-four hours ago, his fingers were tangled up in that hair, his mouth muffling Goro's moans when he pulled.

“It doesn't do assume,” Goro says, and Yuuki thinks he'd like to bite his collarbone, again.

“Goro, this is Sawada Tadami-kun,” he says, instead. “Sawada, Goro's not going to arrest me.”

“Why?” Sawada demands. He sounds affronted. Yuuki wonders if he should feel insulted.

“What was it you said?” Yuuki asks, looking back at Goro. “It's not illegal to run a fansite?”

“Something along those lines,” Goro agrees. “I was wondering if the post about – the gentleman now in custody – originated with one of the external contacts you mentioned.”

“You know I can't tell you that,” Yuuki says, placid, and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“I _could_ arrest you for failing to provide material information in an on-going investigation,” Goro says. He seems amused.

“How's it on-going? The culprit confessed. Sounds like a pretty closed case to me.” He looks over at Sawada, who has his phone out, typing rapidly. He looks grim. “You okay?”

Sawada ignores him as he shoves his phone down into the back pocket of his jeans. “You're kind of prick in person, huh?” he says to Goro.

Still smiling, Goro says, “That appears to be the majority view, at present, though I was once considered to be quite charismatic.”

Sawada snorts. It's in no way lady-like and, Yuuki notices, small shifts have come into his posture and expression, all the subtle arcs and curves of him straightening into lines as he tucks Mimi-chan well out of sight.

“Hindsight,” Sawada says. “Anyway, you can quit bugging Yuuki about his source. It was me, at first, and then a mutual acquaintance of ours – ” He gestures between himself and Yuuki. “ – who'd been keeping an eye out found the name. He'll be here in fifteen if you want to see him. You do, by the way, he was the second victim that we know of.”

Goro doesn't appear phased by this information.

“How many do you know of?” he asks.

“The last one makes seven.”

“And you suspect more?”

Sawada hesitates, glances sidelong at Yuuki, who shrugs. He's just here to watch.

“Not everyone talks about it,” he says, “when this shit happens. It happens constantly, by the way. No one is going to be stoked about talking to the cops.”

Goro looks at Yuuki, now, that careful, neutral expression he wears when he's not putting on anything else. Yuuki can't meet his eyes and feels a bubble of irrational shame rise inside him. It irritates him and he curls his arms around his stomach, holding it in, and Goro speaks before Sawada can follow his gaze to notice.

“With his confession, and you acquaintance's statement, it's unlikely they'll need to,” he says. “But everyone should get the opportunity. I'll see about putting out a press release so other victims can decide for themselves.”

Yuuki closes his eyes and doesn't hear Sawada's response as he breathes in, slowly, and then out, slowly, in, deep enough his lungs strain at his ribcage, and out, careful, thorough, until there's nothing left. His phone buzzes in his pocket.

He gropes for it without thinking, blinks the world into focus with it in front of his face. It's a text from Kurusu.

Of course it is.

Yuuki puts it away without opening it and looks up. Goro is on his phone, speaking soft and polite, not seeming to pay him any attention. Sawada, glaring at Goro in a way that suggests general agitation rather than specific hostility, takes a moment to shoot Yuuki a look when he moves.

“Dude, you okay?”

Yuuki shrugs, rubs his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “I just zoned out for a second. This is – ” He shrugs, again. He's been doing that a lot, lately. He's been feeling it a lot. “It is,” he says.

“I feel that,” says Sawada. “Mr. Charismatic over there is trying to get a prosecutor or someone to take our statements. How do you know him? And why didn't you tell me?”

“Friend of a friend,” Yuuki says. “Kinda. It's weird.”

“Is it, now?” Sawada is staring at him hard, making connections, and Yuuki knows, when he moves a step closer, that he was right to keep himself quiet about himself and that changing that policy today was a mistake. “Mishima-kun,” Sawada says, voice low. “Having already established that I adore you and that nothing could make me think less of you, and also that I already knew you had shit taste – ”

“Jesus,” Yuuki mumbles.”

“ – did you go on a date with Akechi Goro?”

“Ugh, no.” Yuuki rubs his forehead hard with his fingers. “No, I didn't.”

“But?”

“We had plans to meet up. He got done early and asked where to meet me. I was there and thought it would be funny.”

“Was it?”

“Only in concept. I promise this isn't exciting, Sawada-kun.” He's pretty sure that's not a lie if it only got exciting hours later.

“We're gossiping about your love life,” he says. “Call me Tadami. Also, I beg to differ.”

“Please don't.”

“Baby, any chance to see you get the appreciation you deserve is exciting.” Mimi-chan is seeping back in. At least Yuuki's abject humiliation is proving relaxing for – for Tadami.

“I thought he was a prick,” he says.

“He can be charming. I bet he charms you.”

“He really doesn't,” Yuuki says, unthinking, with feeling, and wishes he could swallow it back down because it's too much and too honest and he doesn't have to see the dirty grin tugging Tadami's lips to know it's there.

Mercifully, further interrogation is cut off by Goro himself, announcing he's been successful at whatever he was negotiating and Yuuki vaguely considers giving him a blowjob when he comes over. Yuuki has no idea how to give someone a blowjob but the internet does and, well, Goro deserves one. Maybe a couple if he can keep Tadami busy and away from Yuuki for the rest of time.

He stops these musings himself, saying, “Tadami-kun. You good?” His given name feels a little strange in Yuuki's mouth.

Tadami looks startled, for a moment, before nodding.

“I'm good,” he says. It translates to 'this isn't over'. Yuuki ignores this and holds out one fist for Tadami to bump with his own.

“I'm out, then,” he says.

“Not staying to make a statement?” Goro asks, and Yuuki turns to look at him.

“No, thanks. Text me?”

“Of course.”

“Cool.” Yuuki snags his bag from the ground and hitches it over one shoulder. There's no tinge of pink to his cheeks, nothing in the readiness and warmth of Goro's response that pleases him. “Later,” he says, and heads for the station.

 

Yuuki doesn't check his phone until he gets home, which has got to be some kind of record. Everything about today has been heavy, dragging like lead from his heart and fingertips, ever since Niijima-senpai caught his eye by the school gates. He hasn't been so entrenched in a case since this started (since Kamoshida ended) and the weight of attention, of expectation, from Kurusu and Alibaba and the others, to say nothing of the less painful, but still stressful, overtures from Tadami and Goro, have made it all feel just a touch too much.

Part of him wants to cancel on Goro, to lie real still in bed until Ami-chan comes for a cuddle, and maybe to never get up again. But the rest of him is reaching back, reopening the sensation of bare skin against his skin, a wet mouth open against his mouth, of arms wrapped around him and long fingers digging into his hips. No one had ever touched him, before.

He wants to feel it again.

Yuuki sighs at this singularly useless train of thought, then heads to the kitchen to forage. He hasn't eaten since a granola bar on his way out, this morning, and he knows himself well enough to be aware that once he goes into his room, he's not coming out again for anything so petty as hunger.

Ami-chan's bell rings, bright and clear, announcing her approach as he glares into the bowels of the fridge. She tends to roam more, when his parents are away, and now she rubs herself purring against his legs, loose fur catching and weaving into his rough uniform pants. He smiles.

Everything he owns is covered in cat hair and he never appreciates her territorial instincts more than when she starts scent marking his uniforms. They're a symbol of confinement, of misery, and he likes having them steeped in floating reminders of the one living creature he loves more than anything.

Yuuki is aware, on some level, that certain aspects of his thought processes would sound totally batshit shared aloud. This is why he doesn't share them.

Once he's got the rice maker going – rice is a good starting point, he thinks – he sits down on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinets, and folds in his legs, forming a comfortable hollow into which Ami-chan readily settles.

“Glad to be of service,” he says, stroking her flank. She churrs, and settles into the silent rumble that passes for her purr, while he finally drags out his phone to look at Kurusu's text. All it says is **done**.

Yuuki frowns down at the word, brow furrowing, irritated and confused. Kurusu has never gone out of his way to let him know a request was complete. Like everyone else, Yuuki is at the mercy of sources coming back to share results on the forum, or media reports, for cases big enough to merit public comment. This change in routine only highlights the frustration inherent in the routine itself, to say nothing of the strangeness of all Kurusu's recent behavior.

 **I noticed** he responds, and flicks over to the rarely-closed Phan Site tab, where he updates the earlier post and boosts it again.

 **how** comes through as he's finishing up.

Yuuki snorts, then sighs, and keeps petting his cat.

**Guess he was hanging around shinjuku when it hit my source is giving a statement now**

**they contacted you again**

Yuuki frowns harder.

**Why are you asking me this**

**you said youd be in shinjuku today**

**And you said that shinjuku was out of the line of fire which i took to mean you werent**

Which answers one question, at least. Yuuki had already known – or strongly believed – that the Thieves didn't need to make physical contact with targets to change their hearts. He had, however, wondered about proximity. With all the after school meetings, he's suspected they went somewhere, together, but where was a continuing puzzle. Were they sitting around someone's apartment, communing with spirits? Was there some alien tech or forgotten government weapon sitting around a basement, waiting to be aimed and fired? Or was whatever they did done close up? Had they changed his heart from across town, or from outside his bedroom window?

Those were things he'd wondered but never expected to have answered, so he's a little shocked when Kurusu replies, **no we were in shibuya**

**Why would you hide an alien artifact in shibuya**

**thats not what it is and it wasnt our idea**

**Tell whoever it was that its dumb**

**ill get alibaba on that**

Yuuki feels his face contract into a violent scowl.

**I was hanging out w my source when we heard hed confessed do you need anymore info about what i do in my free time or is that enough**

There's a pause long enough for his screen to dim, but not darken.

**ill see you tmrw**

Yuuki locks his phone and focuses on Ami-chan instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new chapter count is an estimate. I'm still typing and there's still a lot. We'll see how it goes. Also, I'm planning to remove a couple of sex scenes and post them as side stories, so look out for those.
> 
> Anyone have thoughts to share? Emotions? Speculation? I talked with a friend about adding an Unreliable Narrator tag but ultimately decided against it, as Mishima is not actively lying or attempting to mislead. Maybe 'Inadvertently Unreliable Narrator'? Or that might be what the trauma and mental health tags are for.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goro: Be a creep.

Goro schools his face as Yuuki leaves, keeps it to the gentle half-smile he habitually maintains and does not smirk. He looks meaner when he smirks; not trust-worthy; not pleasant. Can't have that.

Yuuki's companion – friend or informant or both – is smirking, but it hardens when he catches Goro's eye. Goro offers a sunny smile in return and says, “Sawada-kun, when will your friend be joining us?”

“Soon,” Sawada says. “She'll be dressed up, just so you know. Try not to faint in shock when you realize some nerdy dude from Nagoya looks better in a dress than a whole legion of your fangirls.”

“If she does this professionally, I imagine she has much higher motivation, to say nothing of resources, than my 'fangirls' as you call them. Though I'd venture to point out that I have precious few of those left.”

Sawada snorts. “What a tragedy.”

“Yes, well. The switch from love letters to death threats had some novelty value, but lost its charm surprisingly quickly.” Goro moves on, aware that remark was a bit more sarcastic than suits his image. “If I may clarify one point – am I correct in thinking you and she are both men but, when presenting as women, prefer to be addressed as such?”

Sawada is visibly startled and so distracted from the previous line of conversation.

“Uh, you mean – with what to call us?” he asks. “Yeah, that'd be good. Some people have other – but, yeah. You're right.”

“Ah, excellent,” says Goro. “This is going to be unpleasant enough as it is, so I thought it would be best to smooth the way with basic etiquette.”

“If you say so?” Sawada is staring, transparently baffled. His posture keeps shifting, now defensively rigid, then drifting into a habitual arc. Talking with Yuuki, he'd been like a serpent, loose and fluid, straight lines moving to simulate curves. Goro had watched them, during his phone call, found himself beginning to compare Sawada's uncomplicated slimness to what he now knows lies beneath Yuuki's clothes.

“So, can you tell me anything?” Sawada asks. “About – the guy? What happened?”

Goro puts one hand to his chin and looks him over, again. Still cautious – good, he'd be an idiot if he weren't – but off-balance, unsure what to make of Goro. He has questions that he's dying to ask but he's sticking to business, such as it is. Goro can appreciate that.

“Very little you don't already know,” he replies. “As I told you both earlier, he arrived at the police station a little while ago and turned himself in. He was rather distraught and it might have taken longer to determine which particular robberies he was confessing to if he had come in at any other time.” He pauses, eyes on Sawada, who doesn't so much as twitch, meeting Goro's eyes without blinking. “It so happens I was meeting with the detective assigned to the case,” Goro continues. “He was the nearest superior officer, so the deputy came to find him. Things fell into place rather nearly after that.”

“I bet,” said Sawada. “And then, what, you came to track Yuuki down?”

“Not at all. I wasn't assigned to this case. I was merely called in to discuss it after the final victim made his statement. Once the confession occurred, I offered to stay and assist, but they assured me there was no need. I suppose they were right, but it is irritating.”

“Back up,” Sawada says. “Back up, just wait and – final victim – what statement, what do you mean? What did Keisuke say?”

Goro raises his eyebrows, can still feel Yuuki's hips under his hands, the slice of bone where he pressed down with his thumbs, the soft swell of flesh around it. He wants to pin those hips to something solid – a wall or a tabletop – and hold them still while he bites bruises into his thighs.

“He's the bartender as Cascade, yes?” Goro asks. “I suppose he said he saw me there yesterday afternoon.”

Sawada opens his mouth. Another voice, tense and ragged, breaks through first.

“Sawada. What the fuck.” It's the voice of an unhappy young man, from the form of a delicate young women with long black ringlets and frothing white petticoats. Her make up is perfect but the whites of her eyes are shot through with evidence of her misery.

“Rini-chan,” Sawada says, and takes one step towards her. She holds up one lace-gloved hand, forestalling him, and turns those painted eyes on Goro.

“You're Akechi,” she says. It sounds like an accusation. Goro admits it. “Are you investigating this shit?”

“No, I'm not.”

“Then you're useless,” she proclaims, and uses her raised hand to grab Sawada's arm. “Precinct?” she asks.

“Yes,” says Goro. “I've arranged for an advocate from the DA's office to be sent over, should you need assistance.”

She nods once – “Cool, thanks,” – and begins to drag Sawada off with her, saying, “Time to send this fucker to hell.”

Her shoes, Goro notices, are combat boots, steel toed. He thinks at first that they don't suit her aesthetic but then changes his mind. Those petticoats could conceal a thousand ways to kill a man.

“To hell,” he says, out loud, just to taste the words. They're delicious, still. The moment he'll send his monster to hell ticks closer all the time.

Goro smiles, then smiles wider as he recalls that there are other delicious things in this world, and that he may just get his teeth into some of them before the day is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The relative brevity of this chapter will hopefully be compensated for by a deleted scene, which will be posted later in the week.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short of physical harm or throwing insults at him, Yuuki doubts Goro could scare him off, at this point. It's kind of an alarming thought to have, in bed with someone who, in practical terms, he doesn't even remotely trust, but he doesn't need to trust him to want him, and he can offer him with his body without including anything else.

Goro does bring case files, but Yuuki is pleased not to discover this until long after he arrives. Whatever the rest of the day has been – and it's been a lot – when evening comes Yuuki is in the position of being home alone with an attractive and agreeable companion and a chance of interruption so low as to be nonexistent.

Yuuki doesn't ask what they are or what they're doing, the latter because it's kind of dumb (they are asking each other invasive personal questions and having sex; those are the behaviors) and the former because it's horrifying. The only thing more horrifying than asking would be Goro's reaction, no matter what that reaction turned out to be. Yuuki has no idea what his relationship with Akechi Goro is and no desire to find out. Whatever it is, it's fine.

Maybe not fine, he amends, as Goro kisses his neck, that night. They had ended up on the couch almost as soon as Goro got there, but that was hours ago, and they've since made it to the bedroom. The things Yuuki does are rarely fine, particularly the ones he enjoys. But he's pretty sure no one involved here is likely to commit suicide, other than him, and that's unrelated. Goro might want to, but he won't – like he said ages ago, he's got things to do.

Speaking of – 

“I take it you're done reviewing files?” he says.

He's at his computer, picking at the Phan Site – nothing major, just trying to fix some display weirdness on the polling results page. He doesn't entirely suck, for a web design n00b but not knowing all the relevant vocabulary means he can't look things up very efficiently and so spends way too much time backtracking and revising when he stumbles across better options a week later.

If web design is a language, he could probably order for himself at a restaurant, but shouldn't risk trying to ask for substitutions.

Goro had been sitting at the low table near the window, flipping through stacks of arcane documents and scratching cryptic shorthand in the margins. He's now leaning over Yuuki from behind, hands on his shoulders, mouth against his jugular.

“Yes,” Goro says, and stops kissing to rest his chin on Yuuki's shoulder. If he can decipher the mess on the screen, he will learn what shade of black Yuuki uses for the background. “It was only one file in full. I was already half done with the other.”

“Do you ever have normal homework?”

“It tends to pile up, I'm afraid. I've written a number of essays to recover credit from assignments I missed due to work. My instructors are very understanding.”

“Refusing you would be treason, I guess. An affront to the crown.”

“You are aware that I'm not actually the Detective Prince, correct?”

“Yeah, she's way cooler.” Goro nips sharply at his ear. Yuuki laughs. “Are you disagreeing? Really?”

“Not at all,” Goro says. “You, however, are being very rude.”

“Shocking,” says Yuuki.

“Amazing,” Goro agrees.

“Unprecedented.” Goro bites him again. “Was that for being rude, too?”

“No. I just like how it feels. Is that a problem?”

“Nah, just checking. Give me like ten more minute, okay? Then we can – do whatever.”

“Certainly.” Goro gives his neck another kiss and backs off, squeezing his shoulders lightly at he does. “Do you mind if I practice my detection while I wait?”

Yuuki wrinkles his nose. “That means you wanna snoop through the nightstand, right?” he says. “Knock yourself out. Though you could also just _ask_ where I keep the lube.”

“I wouldn't dream of disturbing you.”

Yuuki hears a drawer open and shakes his head once before returning his attention to the code on the screen.

Before he's done, a new post comes through – a comment on the thread trailing from the Shinjuku case, made anonymously and so subject to his approval.

**thx bb always knew ur cute butt wasnt all u had goin 4 u** it says, followed by a string of hearts. He smiles and, once the code is wrestled into something approaching respectability, sends Mimi-chan a text.

**You know i can't post that**

Her response is quick – too quick for a work night.

**just wanted u 2 see it hun give u the chance to let the world know we luv u**

**The world doesnt care** he replies, still smiling. Then, he adds, **Thank you tho and youre welcome**

He hesitates before firing off a heart of his own. Mimi-chan responds with a torrent of heart-eyed emoji and kiss marks. He huffs a laugh.

**Goodnight mimi-chan**

**gud niiiiite!!!!!!!**

“How sweet,” Goro says, as his hand slips around Yuuki from behind, arm curling over his chest, and holding him against the chair. Yuuki hooks one hand into the crook of his elbow and hums acknowledgment.

“Mimi-chan,” he says. “She's drunk.”

“Her alter-ego thinks highly of you.”

“You know they're the same person, right?”

“I thought it best to clarify,” he says, “as I haven't met this side of them, yet.”

Yuuki locks his phone and puts it face down on his desk.

“What of it?” he asks, and tips his head back to look at Goro.

“Nothing in particular.” Goro leans in and presses his mouth to Yuuki's throat. “But it is slightly rude, texting while you have a guest.”

Yuuki sighs, observes his own mild irritation at a distance, then releases it in favor of sliding his fingers into Goro's hair.

“Jealous?” he asks, smiling.

Goro sucks lightly at the crook of his neck then leaves off and presses their temples together.

“Merely possessive,” he says. “I have prior claim, for the evening.”

“What about when you don't?” Yuuki asks, suddenly a little breathless, suddenly wanting very badly to be kissed.

“You may send as many heart shaped emoji to as many drag queens as you like,” Goro says, “and I won't say a word.”

“How magnanimous of you,” Yuuki says. He's aware that while the arm around his shoulders has been holding tight, Goro's other hand has drifted to his chest, brushing up and down his sternum.

“Isn't it, though?” Goro kisses the hinge of his jaw, presses his tongue into that soft spot behind the earlobe. Yuuki's heart pounds.

“I'd like you to touch me, now,” he decides.

Goro bites him once more, then pulls away to turn Yuuki's desk chair around and his arms are around his waist by the time Yuuki's made it to his feet. They kiss and, once again, something in Yuuki's mind says 'finally'.

They've learned from their mistakes and shed their clothes before making the move to the bed. They've also made a plan, or at least exchanged a few anxious words, followed by scattered remarks reinforcing their intent. Yuuki's lube comment was the last of those, in addition to everything else it was – taunt and acquiescence and request and affirmation.

(Goro rose to the challenge of Yuuki's atrocious communication skills, which is a lot more explicable now that they're having sex.)

They've also learned some other things, about themselves and each other.

Yuuki likes to be kissed, and to be held, and to be touched, skin to skin, as often as possible and in as many places as possible, all at once. He likes Goro's weight on top of him, his strength around him, and he has reason to believe he's going to like having his fingers inside him.

Goro likes to touch. He likes to taste. He likes biting and seeing the marks he's made rise to surface. He likes to see what he's doing, to have a view on his hands as they move over Yuuki's skin, and he likes the noises Yuuki makes, and the sound of his voice when he's telling him what he wants.

He also likes Yuuki's ass, but that's kind of a given. (There are a lot of people with a thing for his ass, it turns out. Yuuki's pretty okay with his own androgyny, for once.)

Their preferences make some level of compromise a necessity – Goro can't see what he's doing if he's wrapped around him all the time, and Yuuki can't be eternally kissed and also tell Goro how to touch him – but it's a minor issue. Short of physical harm or throwing insults at him, Yuuki doubts Goro could scare him off, at this point. It's kind of an alarming thought to have, in bed with someone who, in practical terms, he doesn't even remotely trust, but he doesn't need to trust him to want him, and he can offer him with his body without including anything else.

Goro sucks on his neck, gentle near the hinge of his jaw, and tucks his thumb into the hollow beneath the opposite earlobe. He rubs, sends lazy sparkles of lust spiraling out from Yuuki's lower belly, and nips at his shoulder.

“Still with me?” Goro asks, now into the hollow of his throat. “Or am I boring you?” He licks the center of his clavicle and Yuuki's hips shift, restless.

“I'm thinking about you,” Yuuki tells him. “Dumbass.”

“Such sweet talk,” Goro says, and licks his nipple. The sensation is more strange than arousing and Yuuki huffs. “What about me?”

Time for a lie.

“Your hands are bigger than mine,” Yuuki replies, plucking a thought from an hour before. “And you'll have a better angle than I ever did.” He swallows as Goro's grip on his hair turns harsh. “It should be good,” he says, with a shuddering breath. “I want it to be good.”

Goro kisses his mouth, hard. When he pulls away, they're both breathing hard. Yuuki blinks the fog from his eyes and sees Goro's, burning into him.

“You're goading me,” he says. “I know you are.”

Yuuki almost manages a smile. “Is it working?” he asks.

Goro kisses him, again, pulls away just as quickly, and presses their foreheads together. He's leaning over Yuuki, now, one arm curled under his shoulders, the other moved from his hair to his hip. Yuuki has planted on foot in the bed, knee drawn up, while the other lays bent outward, leaving them parted, the tender places between exposed.

“Yes,” Goro says, “it's working. But it's superfluous.”

Yuuki feels a smile spreading on his face and he just knows that Goro's about to say something weird and possessive. He likes that knowledge a lot.

“It's going to be good,” Goro goes on. “I'm going to _make_ it good. And you're going to make the most beautiful sounds.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Yuuki says, into another, softer, press of their mouths.

“It could be,” Goro says, as his hand moves from Yuuki's hip to stroke his inner thigh. Yuuki finds the lube, resting cool on the sheets beside him, and clicks it open.

“We're gonna make a mess,” he says. “Don't think about it.”

Goro pulls back just enough to squint at the bottle. “It's water-based, right?”

“Yeah.”

Goro nestles in close, again, hair brushing Yuuki's cheek as he watches their hands. “It shouldn't cause any lasting damage, then.”

“How comforting.” Yuuki takes Goro's hand in his and squeezes too hard on the tube, ends up with a generous drizzle across his own ribs. It's cold. “You're helping me with the laundry.” His voice is thick to his own ears, desire layered underneath. Goro's hands are slender and strong and Yuuki can still see them curling around his waist from behind, thinks he'll be seeing that first bewildering touch in his mind until the day he dies.

Goro kisses that spot, again, that soft divot tucked behind where his jaw hinges to his skull, then his hair is brushing Yuuki's temple and he moves his hand down, past his genitals and towards the cleft behind. He ignores his dick entirely, which is for the best – Yuuki would be embarrassed by how it's responding if he couldn't see Goro's dripping, hadn't felt it twitch while they navigated the lube. He spreads his legs wider and turns his face into Goro's hair when his slick fingers make contact. His breathing hitches and he focuses on keeping it going as Goro touches him, strokes over his hole and back again before he begins to circle, pressing lightly, spreading lube around. Yuuki shivers, lets out an 'ah' then a longer 'oh' as his index finger slips inside.

It doesn't feel like much, yet, just the strangeness of something moving where nothing is designed to move, but Yuuki's dick is taking cues from his brain as much as from his nerve endings and he feels another spike of desire in his gut. Goro moves deeper, spreading slickness inside of him, and even this feels good, the anticipation of how good it's going to feel.

Yuuki lets out a shaky breath as the finger slips out, then a startled laugh when Goro runs it through the lube spilled on his stomach. He gets a nip on the neck for it, as Goro reaches down, again.

“Ah – ”

Two fingers feel like something, push at his muscles in ways they're no longer used to, and Goro moves slow but it's different, being opened by someone else, now knowing where the touch is going until it's there. Goro works them in and out, steady, as Yuuki breathes deep into his hair. He's just – getting a feel for it, Yuuki supposes. Getting a feel for him. Yuuki likes that thought. He likes the feeling, likes being felt.

Goro presses in deeper, hilts his fingers within him, and rests there, strokes his thumb across the nearest skin. Something in Yuuki flutters at that, and he hears Goro's breath hitch when he tightens around him, just a little, then consciously relaxes again.

Yuuki reaches across himself, catches hold of Goro's shoulder. “How is it?” he asks.

Goro laughs, tightens the arm he has around him. “Shouldn't I be asking you that?”

Yuuki shifts his hips, wanting, and gasps when Goro twists his hand, a movement he's never properly managed on himself. His muscles stretch to accommodate, and it's intoxicating, being shaped by someone else's hands.

“Ah – I knew I'd – like it,” he says. “I told you.”

“You did,” Goro agrees, and keeps turning his fingers back and forth as Yuuki's breath gets louder, heavier. “I'm glad you do.” He begins changing his angle by degrees, questing, and Yuuki's feels him get closer, almost, almost – 

“D – do you like it?” he asks, gasps. “D – do you – How do I feel?”

“Beautiful,” Goro says, without a moment's pause. “You feel beautiful.” He lifts his head, meets Yuuki's eyes, then pulls him closer. Yuuki's lips are parted, still panting, as Goro takes them with his own, and the kiss is deep, hungry. Goro's fingers shift inside him, restless, and find the right angle, at last. Yuuki's moan, sudden and loud, is muffled by Goro's tongue, and he digs his nails into Goro's shoulder, claws at him. Goro doesn't stop, doesn't drop anything, not kissing, not holding, not touching, and now that he's found his sounds, he's following hard upon them, focused on keeping the proper angle, on making Yuuki feel.

He breaks away, abrupt, and Yuuki flops back, gasping, vision fogged, body alight like fraying wires. Goro's fingers are insistent, constant, inside of him, rubbing hard against his prostate at just the right tilt, and he can feel his hole contracting and releasing, out of his control, making the fingers feel larger. His dick aches like a painful afterthought, untouched and wet with precome, and he's feels so sensitive he's not sure he could bear a hand on it, even as he burns for release.

“More,” he gasps. “Goro, fuck – Goro, more.”

“Tell me what you want,” Goro says, “and I'll make you scream.”

Yuuki wants to laugh. That's so stupid, this is so stupid, it's absurd, all of it, and he wants it so bad – “Another,” he says. “Give me another.”

“Lube?”

Yuuki flails out a hand, makes contact with the bottle.

“It's here.”

There's another few moments of awkward scrambling and co-op lubrication before Goro is penetrating Yuuki, again, opening him wider, a noticeable stretch as he moves them around one another inside.

“G – Goro – !”

“Beautiful,” he breathes, and pushes in hard and sure, just right to hit that spot again, and Yuuki's groan breaks out of him like a forced door. He hasn't finished shuddering when Goro starts pushing, again, rubbing, fucking him with his fingers, and Yuuki is so close so fast he's dizzy with it.

“Fuck,” he says, forces it out, because that gets Goro off, he knows hearing him gets Goro off and there's nothing else he can do, right now. “Fuck, yes, fuck, Goro, harder, _Goro_ – ”

“Yuuki,” Goro says, close by his ear. “You look so good. Can you come like this?”

“Ah – I – ?”

Goro twists hard up against his prostate and lets out a pathetic keening sound, back arching, ass grinding down onto his hand.

“Look at me,” Goro snaps, and his free hand is in Yuuki's hair, holding on tight. It's not until he's bringing away bright spots and shadows Yuuki realizes he's had his eyes squeezed shut. Goro's face is flushed, eyes lust-glazed but steady, holding Yuuki's as his fingers move, make him moan, once again.

“I want to know if you can come like this,” he says, not thrusting, now, but rubbing over that one spot. Yuuki opens his mouth, lets out a gasp, need for release waving bitter war with the desire to keep going, keep going, keep going. “Will my fingers inside you be enough?” Goro asks. “Do I even need to touch your dick?”

There's another option, an obvious one, and it's been stabbing Yuuki in the hip this whole time. Yuuki's not surprised by how much he wants that inside him, instead, but he's just bright enough to know that giving into that impulse in this moment would be too much too fast, maybe for Goro, definitely for himself.

“I – I've never – ” Yuuki hisses as Goro twists, again, without pausing, slow and hard against his prostate, and beyond the crush of pleasure, Yuuki feels his body shake, his ass go tight, and he swears he can feel every arc of bone in those fingers, every line folded into the joints.

“I've never done that,” he forces out, when Goro eases up his attack. “Not while I was doing it. I always – ah – ah, fuck – Goro – ”

“You always what?” Goro asks, and begins to move in and out, again, almost gently, and the throttle down leaves Yuuki breathless and needy. “You always needed to touch?” His free hand brushes down Yuuki's cheek. Yuuki nods and blinks up at him, shivers again. “How about now?”

“Close,” Yuuki says, before he knows he's going to say anything at all. “Goro, I – so close, I need – I need it.”

“What do you need?” Goro says. He's still touching his face. “Tell me.”

Yuuki squeezes his eyes closed, again, and is baffled when a tear leaks from each. Goro's lips brush his cheeks in turn, blotting them from his skin, then moves away and Yuuki watches, blinking irrational damp from his eyes, as he sits up straight. Goro's eyes are locked between his legs, on his dick or, more likely, the way his own fingers are buried inside him, stilled for the moment, tantalizing. Goro's other hand presses into Yuuki's shoulder, bracing one of both of them, and starts fucking him hard, again.

Yuuki chokes, shudders, and then he's moaning, again, the pressure and pull at his hole enough to unravel him even before Goro compensates for their changed position and gets the angle right, again.

“Yes,” he hears his own voice saying, as the heat builds in his groin, as his erection leaks and his balls go tight. “Yes, yes, fuck, yeah, Goro, fuck – ” He's half expecting another pause, another questions or thought or change, and as Goro keeps going, his moans shatter into desperate whimpers. “More,” he says. “More. Goro. Goro.”

“Close?” Goro asks, voice thick and labored.

“So close, more, fuck, f-fuck, Goro, I need – just a little more, fuck, Goro, that – that's so good, ah – !”

His hand is at his own hip, curled into a fist, and he could touch himself, he's so close, almost, but Goro said – 

“Do it,” Goro says. “You can – you can touch yourself.” He sounds like Yuuki feels. “If you need – I didn't mean – ”

“I want to,” Yuuki says, too lost in the grasping fire of need to hear himself. “I want you – want to – ah fuck, fuck, Goro – ”

“Yuuki?” It's a breath, lust and reverence.

“It's just, I'm right, it's there, I'm right there, I – ”

He loses it, speech and coherence, off into a well of gasps and whines and violent trembling, and more tears leak from his eyes because Goro's fingers are still there, still perfect, still moving and pushing and stretching him in all the most delicious ways, and every touch is sending sparks across across his skin, setting fire to his blood, and it feels so good, he feels so good, and he still can't come. A moan turns into a sob half-way through and he slams his fist down on the mattress.

Distantly, he hears Goro curse, and then the hand on his shoulder is wrapped around his dick and sometime in the next thirty seconds Yuuki screams.

He'd feel guilty about Goro doing all the work is the first thing he felt, still half-smothered in the haze of orgasm, weren't yet more semen splattering across his stomach, and if he hadn't blinked his vision clear to see Goro, face contorted, jerking off left handed, while his right stayed buried knuckle deep in Yuuki's ass.

Yuuki is too wrecked to mind when Goro disengages less gracefully than he might have liked, endorphins flooding his veins, clouding his mind, so everything feels tender and warm and right. Goro soft of crumples beside him and, when Yuuki looks over, his flush is covering his neck, blotching across his neck and shoulders. His lips are parted and red, sucking in air like he just surfaced from deep water. He's on his side, looking back at Yuuki, burgundy eyes still hazy, auburn hair sweat-stiff and tangled. Yuuki feels himself starting to smile and doesn't bother to stopping it. He laughs once.

“Shit.”

Goro blinks, a slow operation, then the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Shit,” he agrees, and laughs, too. 

“Loser,” Yuuki says, for no particular reason. “Go wash your hands.”

Goro laughs again. “What?”

Yuuki kicks out at him, scores a blow to the knee with his own calf.

“Hands,” he says, still grinning like an idiot, inches form Goro's face. “Wash them. You had them up my butt.”

Goro laughs harder, chokes on it, wheezes, which sets Yuuki giggling, again. He tries kicking, again, with indifferent results.

“You – fucking – ” He snorts, setting Goro off into a straight up cackle, which is kind of amazing and hilarious. “ _Loser,_ ” he says. He goes to kick him again – third time lucky, or whatever – but Goro heaves himself over before he gets the chance and, well, Yuuki's not gonna argue with the eager liplock that follows.

He kisses back, messy and wet, giggling every time Goro bits him because, hell, this is a terrible idea, but it's terrible for both of them, and also Goro is really fucking hot and seems to want Yuuki as a chew toy, and, well, whatever. Yuuki's a teenager and the world is full of shit and he might as well make some bad decisions that feel nice, once in a while.

They stop kissing to breath, foreheads pressed together. Yuuki lays a light smack on Goro's side.

“Wash your hands,” he says, again.

“I'd rather stay here.”

“You had your hand up my butt. Go wash it.”

“I don't know. I rather like your butt.”

“I'd never have guessed. I still poop out of it.”

This sends Goro into another spasm of laughter but, soon enough, he kisses Yuuki hard, once more, and sits up.

“You're coming, too,” he announces.

Startled, Yuuki shifts to see him properly and is thus reminded of the drying semen on his stomach and the lube smeared all over his ass and thighs and belly.

“Ugh,” he says. “Okay, fair. I'm gross, too.”

Goro smirks at him but doesn't comment. It's an impressive display of self-control.

Yuuki wipes his hands on the wrecked sheets, doesn't let Goro touch anything on the way to the bathroom, and starts the shower while he obediently washes up in the sink.

They make out some more in the shower, pressed up against each other under the steam. Surplus sensation is fogging Yuuki's head, again, but it's less urgent, now, comfortable. Goro's hands slide along his back and flanks, familiar, now, cutting paths through the water sluicing down over them. Yuuki leans into him, touches his neck and chest, on down, with grasping fingers and ragged nails while Goro spreads his legs, leans back and lets the shower wall take his weight, brings Yuuki closer.

They get hard, again, and get off, again, wrapped around each other, erections pressed together. Goro slips an arm around Yuuki's waist and two fingers back inside him and then Yuuki does the work, pushing back into the penetration then forward to grind on his dick, fierce and needy, until he comes, again.

His knees give out almost immediately and he drops onto them as soon as Goro's fingers get clear. With clarity born of enough dopamine to stop international conflict in its tracks, he sees Goro's dick in front of him, sees the flushed head, the taut shaft, the balls drawn tight, and knows he's close. He's sit on it, if his muscles weren't all goo, but they are, and, hey hadn't he meant to give this guy a blowjob?

Goro is moving to touch himself, to jerk off, again. Yuuki grabs him by the hips, takes the leaking head in his mouth, and sucks.


	15. Chapter 15

Yuuki collapses onto Goro's bare chest, that night, eyes closed even as he flops a hand back for blankets to pull up around them. Goro takes over the business of tucking them both in, then slips his arms back between the cool sheets. They curl around Yuuki's shoulders and waist, weighing him down with gravity and intent and with each exhale he feels himself sink deeper into Goro's embrace. It's an illusion of some kind, his unreliable senses playing games, but it's not a bad one. He kind of likes it, even. He's clean and warm, as safe as he ever is, and he's had three orgasms, today, with one of the hottest people he's ever met. He sighs, content.

_Not bad at all._

Goro rubs the small of his back, a prelude to speech.

“Did you set an alarm?” he asks.

“. . . Ugh.” Of course he didn't. Yuuki shifts, pries his eyes open. “Just a second,” he says, and hauls himself upright, frowning as both the blankets and Goro's arms fall away. He squints into the darkness then turns, half falling out of bed. With his back to it, he hadn't realized how close they were to the edge.

“Fuck,” he says and, ignoring an inquisitive sound from around the pillow, manages to turn the desk lamp on. Goro curses, too. “I know, I know,” he mumbles. “Now, where – ”

His phone is where he left it, face down on the desk in one of the awkward gaps left by his keyboard, monitor, and other hardware. He flips it, plugs it into the cord eternally slotted into the front of his tower, and the screen lights up. It's 10:17 PM, early by his standards, and there are half a dozen Phan Site notifications he'll need to deal with in the morning. Hopefully Kurusu will do his weird Thief voodoo on Kawakami, again. He also has texts.

“What the fuck,” he states, and shoves the heel of one hand into his eye socket. He's not feeling Alibaba, right now.

“What?” Goro says, now sitting half up, eyes heavy but bright. Yuuki shakes his head, unlocks his phone.

“Usual admin shit,” he says. “Same time as this morning okay?”

“Yes, please,” Goro says, and flops back down. Yuuki sets the alarm and banishes all the alerts from his lock screen before he turns and climbs back into bed, snuggles up against Goro's side, again.

He might be waxing poetic about falling asleep in the guy's arms, but he's not braindead, yet.

 

Alibaba is texting him about the school trip. His school trip – not hers, because he might not know exactly who she is, but he knows she doesn't go to Shujin. But she's asking him about the Shujin school trip.

**Why are you asking me this** seems to be the logical response, as he sits in his living room the next morning, legs folded under him while Goro is in the shower. He's not expecting to hear back until later – whatever hours Alibaba keeps, he has a feeling this isn't one of them – but she replies so fast he kinda suspects she was notified when he read her message. Creepy.

**ur goin?????? so u should kno??????**

**Ask kurusu**

**morgana doesnt let him text at bkfst duh**

Yuuki has a curious sensation, then, like his body and mind were so prepared to be intrigued that they misfire when the corresponding emotion doesn't arise. Everything she just said was nonsense and he does not care. Shaking his head, he responds, **Its next weds though sun to hawaii**

**ok good!!! u r goin right??????**

Yuuki puts his phone on silent without responding. Interesting question. School trips tend to be mandatory but this year has been a strange one, for Shujin as well as for him, and the idea of leaving Tokyo kind of makes his skin crawl. He could probably get out of it without much trouble; no one likes to ask him too many questions, these days. No one but the Thieves.

The sudden jangle of Ami-chan's bell heralds her abrupt and clawful arrival in his lap, ears flickering flat, fur a defensive puff of gray, making her resemble nothing so much as an irate cotton ball. Movement from above, faint thought the carpet and floorboards, clarifies matters and Yuuki begins to stroke her nape, gentle but firm.

“Wrong smelly teenager in your room, huh?” he says. “I'm sorry, baby, that must have been so upsetting for you.” She grumbles at him, that not-purr that tells him that his attentions are acceptable, but that that acceptance might be revoked at an time. He smiles, just a little, and loses himself in the texture of her fur for a minute or two.

“Ah, Yuuki?” Goro's voice calls from the stairs.

“Living room,” Yuuki says, looking up but not moving. He's pretty comfortable.

He can hear Goro move across the floor, approaching from behind. Yuuki glances up as he leans over the back, grins when pale hands come to rest on his shoulders.

“This is some kind of power trip thing for you, isn't it?” he asks, before Goro can speak. “Looming over me? You're already like half a foot taller, isn't this overkill?” He's not particularly surprised when Goro wraps his arms around him an leans in, cheekbone prodding his temple.

“Not at all,” Goro says. “It's a matter of _access_.” He trails a hand down the front of Yuuki's shirt. Yuuki flushes and moves to swat it away but finds his wrist caught, the inside of it kissed. “It's so important, isn't it?” Goro goes on, lips still pressed to his pulse. “Making sure you find the best route in?”

“Ugh!” Yuuki pushes Goro's forehead back with his palm and shakes his wrist free. “I told you to stop hitting on me,” he says, and goes back to petting Ami-chan. Goro hugs him, again, and kisses the hinge of his jaw.

“But how else am I to ensure you stay seduced?” he asks, and noses at the back of his ear.

“Playing with fire,” Yuuki mumbles, scalp beginning to prickle. Goro leaves off and presses their cheeks together, instead. This must be hurting his back.

Yuuki threads the fingers from one hand into Goro's hair and says, “I'm sixteen. All anyone's gotta to do to keep me seduced is show up.”

“Are you sure that's a function of age and not temperament?”

“. . . Did you just call me a slut?”

“I said no such thing.”

He sounds so smug. Yuuki is obligated to pull his hair.

“Who grabbed who first?” he asks, and pulls again. “Who has continued to grab who first?”

Goro is definitely laughing at him when he says, “I haven't heard you object.” He licks behind Yuuki's ear and Yuuki shudders.

“Fuck,” he says, fisting Goro's hair tight. “Fuck, okay. So I'm easy. You are, too. You can't keep your hands to yourself.”

Goro stops biting him long enough to say, “And you don't want me to.”

“Maybe not.” Ami-chan jumps from Yuuki's lap. The accompanying jangle is somehow affronted. “But unless you're actually planning to skip school to ravish me – ” Goro gives a 'hm' of consideration that is definitely bullshit. “ – you're gonna need to let up on my ear.” He pulls Goro's hair, again. “Don't think I can't retaliate.”

Goro lets up on his ear. He holds onto Yuuki tight, for a moment, one hand spread high across his sternum, the other against the relative softness of his stomach. Yuuki lets him have whatever moment he's having – the specifics might be different, but he knows what it means to crave touch – and, in due course, Goro's grip relaxes and loosens and Yuuki is released. He tips his head back and looks up at Goro, smirking as he watches him comb his fingers through thoroughly ruffled hair, smoothing it back into order.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Good morning,” Goro replies. “Today is Tuesday, I believe. Your parents should arrive home tomorrow?”

“Ugh.” Yuuki hauls himself off the couch and stretches. “Don't remind me. Yeah, that's the plan.”

“And have you made any decision regarding my – ah – proposal?”

When he turns around, Goro is smiling, that same cloudless smile that once convinced the whole country that he was _such a nice boy_.

“By which you mean fucking with them,” he says, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, sure, I'm on board. Just keep me updated on whatever lies you tell them. Wouldn't want to blow your cover.”

The smile gets brighter. Yuuki thinks Goro is sparkling at him. They are very sarcastic sparkles.

“Why would I ever lie to them?” he asks.

“Because it wouldn't fit your image to say that you're an ass man.”

In the next moment, Goro's smile goes knife-sharp, the sparkles shifting to a gleam.

“You understand me so well.”

Yuuki snorts and drags his phone from his pocket to check the time. His brow furrows involuntarily as he eyes the lock screen. Nine messages from Alibaba which, fine, whatever, she's basically his personal spambot at this point. But what's with the two from Sakamoto?

“Problem?” Goro asks. He's moving around the couch towards him. Yuuki dismisses the notifications and relocks his phone.

“Don't be an admin,” he says, instead of replying. It's still true.

“I didn't plan on it.”

“We should head out, soon,” Yuuki adds, but when Goro's arms wrap around him, he presses into them and kisses back with all the breath in his lungs.

 

**hey so school trip** Sakamoto's first message reads, because 'Phantom' just sounds cool and has no practical implications for how the Thieves operate. It's a good thing orgasms reduce tension because Yuuki thinks he'd probably be at risk for a stroke by now, otherwise.

Though the Thieves might not be acting so weird if he weren't hanging around Goro.

Whatever.

Yuuki shakes his head, looks at Sakamoto's next text. He's got one from Kurusu, too, but he's saving it for last.

**u kno who ur rooming w/ yet?????**

Baffling.

Yuuki narrows his eyes at the screen and shoots back, **Tanaka probably**

If he goes, that is. Sakamoto replies while he's looking over Alibaba's rambling description of – some burial site from a battle in 1819? Did she mean to send him this? What's he supposed to do with this information? He sends back **?** That should be sufficient.

**who the f is tanaka u shud room w/ me** Sakamoto says.

**We have to room with people in our class** Yuuki points out.

**ugh room w/ akira then ill com hang w/ u 2**

Yuuki doesn't dignify this with a reply. He shoots Tanaka a message.

**Room with me in hawaii?**

**sure** comes back quick enough he must not be enmeshed in his epic, yet. **let me know asap if you change your mind I have the terrible feeling kawakami will stick me with kurusu if there's no other option**

**He wont do anything to you dude hes pretty laid back most of the time**

**yea sure but I'd rather he not know I exist ever**

**going well so far might be harder to pull off if we end up locked up alone together**

Yuuki huffs a laugh.

**Talk later?** he asks. He'd rather Alibaba didn't know he was hoping to get out of going, yet, but it'd be mean not to tell Tanaka. He gets a thumbs up emoji in reply.

Yuuki gets off the train and keeps his eyes resolutely away from the tracks as he moves towards the exist. Alibaba has texted back.

**ITS IN HAWAII DUMBBUTT**

He takes a cue from Tanaka and sends her a thumbs up. She doesn't have an insta-comeback and Sakamoto hasn't replied so it's time to see what Kurusu wants.

Joy.

**i told her to leave you alone.**

Yuuki stops to lean on the wall outside the train station, the same place he and Takamaki talked – whenever that was. He braces himself with one knee bent, foot flat against the concrete, and settles in. He's at the back end of on time, will be late if he doesn't keep going but, well, whatever. Aside from this thing with Goro (this thing he absolutely should not keep doing) all he ever does is keep going. Keep going and think about train tracks. He's a little angry, somehow, that he didn't look at them, today. That feeling of failure, of losing his chance, has lingered since Kurusu came up to him that day. It's like he missed a deadline and now it's too late for him to die, so he has to just – 

Keep going.

Even if he doesn't want to. Even if he would drop dead where he stood if he could will it right now. Even if every night when he goes to sleep it's with exhaustion he prays will kill him and every morning he wakes up he's disappointed by his own being. He's got company there, he thinks, but his parents aren't his first choice for sharing hopes and dreams, however much they might agree.

He blinks his phone back into focus. The screen is black and when he wakes it up he's officially late for homeroom. He waits to have feelings about that but it doesn't happen.

After a moment or two, he goes back to Kurusu's message and replies.

**Hows that working out**

**i think she blocked me**

**Insubordination in the ranks**

**not really**

**she keeps saying its a work thing but shes just bugging you bc she likes you**

Yuuki grimaces.

**Do you mean bothering or is cyberstalking a sign of affection**

**both** , is Kurusu's predictable response. Predictable and also bullshit. Yuuki beats his foot against the wall twice and takes a deep breath, head tilted back, eyes closed. When he looks down, again, he's got another message from Kurusu.

**where are you**

**Outside**

The next message seems to take longer than it should. Yuuki wonders whether Kurusu got distracted or busted by Kawakami or if he was looking at Yuuki's text like he's been looking at Yuuki, lately, all wary concern, weighing it, weighing him. Kurusu always takes his time but the few times they've made eye contact, recently, he's been _careful_.

It's pretty irritating that he thinks it matters. What, like Yuuki can get any more broken?

**are you coming in?**

Yeah, okay. He's being careful, again.

**Sure**

Yuuki puts his locked phone in his pocket. Both of his hands bury themselves, too, and he stays where he is, looking up towards the sky. It's clear, today, at least. A nice day to be outside. Maybe if it stays that way, he can go to that one shrine, after school. The one that's always quiet, somehow, while the city around it screams. Yuuki could use some quiet.

Half-made plans still floating in his mind, he pushes off the wall and makes it in time for first period.


	16. Chapter 16

Yuuki spends lunch lurking in a group chat with Mimi-chan and some of the other concerned parties in Shinjuku. He's been in it for a while but the notifications for the app are usually turned off.

He gets some work done on the Phan Site – cleans up spam, boosts a couple of likely-looking threads that don't have quite enough information, and bookmarks one he wants to look into himself. It's got a name in it, and, if the details are legit, it's a promising lead. (If it's not, he'll try to track the OP and that'll be the name he sends Kurusu.) By the time he's done an initial search of the national crime database and, for good measure, recent court filings, the threads he boosted have collected enough new comments to give him hope that at least one will lead somewhere.

Now and then, he flips over to the group chat and hates the world a little less. Mimi-chan and her friends may not every be _safe_ but this threat, at least, is gone. They can appreciate that, and so does he. Before he gets up to leave, he sends Goro a text.

**Hey**

He has a reply by the time he reaches the classroom.

**Do you want to meet tonight?**

Yuuki replies, **Yeah**

**I won't be finished until 8:00 PM at the earliest. Will that be too late?**

**Nah text me whenever youre done ill be free**

Goro replies with a smiley face. He's so fucking weird.

Tanaka is always neck deep in his epic during lunch so Yuuki sends, **Walk together?** in the break before last period. He gets another thumbs up back.

Unfortunately for someone – maybe everyone – Kurusu makes straight for Yuuki's desk after class. Yuuki catches Tanaka's eye over his shoulder, sees him freeze with indecision before leaving the room in a rush. He takes a moment to be annoyed with him for choosing maintaining incognito mode over helping him out, but isn't Yuuki the one always saying Kurusu's cool? Ugh, whatever.

“Hey,” he says, a belated reply to Kurusu's greeting, and stops frowning at the door. “What's up?”

Kurusu folds his arms over his chest, more defensive than Yuuki's used to seeing him.

“I wanted to apologize,” he says.

Yuuki feels his eyebrows draw in. “Okay?” When nothing more is forth-coming, he adds, “For what?”

Kurusu shrugs, looks away, then looks back, again. This goes beyond careful, Yuuki realizes. Kurusu is _nervous_.

What the actual fuck.

“For the others, I guess,” he says, then shakes his head. “I mean, I can't tell them what to do,” he goes on, still not looking Yuuki in the eye. “Not here. When we're – out, then yeah, but – ” He huffs. “But I did tell them about that day at the station. More than I should have. And I definitely should have realized Ann would call Ryuji and tried to head her off. It hit too close to home for her, especially with – it being you and all the – history.”

Yuuki puts aside the parts of this that don't makes sense – he's gotten good at that – and focuses on the parts that might if he squints.

“Are you – apologizing – for not being able to control – the people you just said you couldn't control?”

Kurusu smiled at him, brief and weak.

“Well, when you put it like _that_ ,” he says, and shakes his head again. “No, I'm saying I can't apologize for them. But I can apologize for being pushy and for not respecting your privacy. I would have avoided me, too. And, thank you for keeping up the Site, even though it turns out we all kind of suck?”

That startles a snicker out of Yuuki, even as he ducks his head.

“That's not – ” He tries again, looking up at Kurusu through his bangs. “Of course I kept it up. Even if it weren't for – ” Here he has to look away before he goes on. “There are still people out there hurting. Even if you can't help all of them, I have to listen. That's all I _can_ do.”

There's a silence between them. Yuuki is grateful for it. He feels strange, exposed, like his ribcage just cracked open to let Kurusu look inside. It's not a comfortable feeling. He looks down, focuses on his bag, on securing all the zippers he usually leaves be.

Then, Kurusu asks, “Aren't you one of them?”

“One of what?” He looks over to see gray eyes steady on him, focus writ large in every line of Kurusu's face.

“One of the people still hurting.”

He says it like a fact, not a question, and Yuuki lets out a laugh before he knows it's coming. He keeps smiling while Kurusu's brow furrows. Is that what this is?

“Sure,” he says. “If you like.” He turns to his desk and starts gathering his things to go. “But we're good, okay? I bought this. It has nothing to do with you.”

“What do you mean you bought it?” Kurusu asks.

Yuuki's pocket vibrates with an in-coming call. Tanaka.

“One second,” he says to Kurusu, and answers. “Hey, I'll be out in a few.”

“Cool,” says Tanaka. “Meet at the station?”

“Got it.” Yuuki hangs up. “I meant what I said,” he tells Kurusu. “I earned this. It sucks but just – it's mine. Let me carry it.” He pauses, considers. “Though, I'm not really sure why you're surprised. I mean – ” He hears Takamaki in his head, as if it were May all over again.

Of course. Kamoshida didn't get to run. Why should he?

He wonders, for a moment, what they're expecting. He's not about to get thrown in jail but maybe he's supposed to redeem himself and become a better person? That would require him to be a person, though, rather than this collection of faulty parts rattling around in an empty space.

“You mean?” Kurusu asks. “What do you mean? Yuuki?”

“Never mind.” Yuuki shoulders his bag. “Not important. Just – don't worry about it, okay? It has nothing to do with you.”

Kurusu doesn't look happy but he nods. He better, after wallowing in guilt for invading his privacy.

“See you tomorrow?” he says. That sounds like a question.

“Yeah,” says Yuuki. “But I gotta head out, now. Later.”

He walks, this time, but it still feels like he's running away from something.

 

Tanaka is lurking in the corner when Yuuki gets to the station. He looks like a creep, but not the kind of creep anyone is scared of – just the kind you pretend isn't there. Yuuki nods to him and Tanaka peels off to fall in beside him on the way down to the train.

“Good to see you're in one piece,” he says in greeting.

“We've been over this,” says Yuuki.

“Sure. But who's to say he won't fuck up a bomb one of these days?”

“You'd be in more danger than me, dude.”

Tanaka's whole face scrunches in disdain. “That's why I scan everything into my external hard drive every night,” he says. “Last I checked, you don't have a back up moderator.”

“Administrator.” Yuuki doesn't bother with any of the other dozen available discussion topics packed into those two sentences. There are only so many hours until he's meeting up with Goro and any one of Tanaka's detours can eat up twice that many.

“So, school trip,” he says, and gets on the train going away from Shibuya, his own home, and everything else. Tanaka follows and they scrunch together, Tanaka in a corner, Yuuki at his side, chest pressing into his arm as the crowd pushes them closer. Tanaka snatches Yuuki's bag and hugs it, his own safe between his back and the wall. Yuuki reaches across him to grab the rail by his hip, steadying himself and marking a clear boundary as they duck their heads in to speak.

“I figured there was more to it,” Tanaka says. “That was too convenient, this morning. Spill.”

“I'm gonna try and get out of it,” Yuuki tells him. “Keep it quiet, though.”

“Who do I tell anything to?”

“Other than me?” Yuuki shrugs. “No idea.”

“Fair.” Tanaka considers this. “How?”

“Trauma?”

“Sounds reasonable. Is it true?”

“Eh, probably?”

“Have you talked to your parents?”

“Hell no.”

“You're gonna have to, eventually.”

“Maybe. They won't necessarily know when it is.”

“Won't they have it on a calendar or something?”

Yuuki thinks of the calendar on the fridge. “I'll come up with something.”

Tanaka's eyes aren't any special color or shade but they flicker over Yuuki, sharp and hard, and he feels more uncomfortably _seen_ than he had underneath Goro, with his legs spread open and too much empty air between them.

Tanaka says, “This has to do with why you've been beating track records off the property every day.” It's not a question.

“Yes, it does,” Yuuki answers, anyway. And, because it's Tanaka, “I'm fucking somebody I really shouldn't be.”

Tanaka just nods, like this is the satisfactory final evidence some great detective needed to complete his case.

“Shocking,” he says, “that any of us might make poor decisions regarding our interpersonal relationships.”

“I know, right?”

Tanaka nods, again. “You're cornering Kawakami tomorrow?”

“That's the plan.”

“Let me know how it goes. If you manage it, I'll see about getting any another bronchial infection.”

“How many of those can one person even get?”

“You'd be surprised. One particularly bad bout can leave a patient vulnerable to reinfection for several years afterwards, particularly if they have some other stressor impacting their immune system. Trauma can do it. Also, I'm very good at feigning a cough.”

Yuuki snorts. “Oh, I know,” he says, then flickers his eyes around the people packed in around them. “Hey,” he says, even more softly. “How fast do you think you can clear this car?”

Tanaka follows his gaze without expression.

“How long until we reach the next station?” he asks.

Tanaka's pleurisy reenactment gets them the car almost entirely to themselves for the last stretch to his stop. They wander around for a while, after that, not going anywhere in particular. Shujin's been pretty quiet on the distortion front, Yuuki knows, but it's always nice to get independent corroboration.

Tanaka's younger sister goes to Kosei on some kind of scholarship – music-related, Yuuki thinks – and she's told him things are more relaxed now that the Madarame story has been over-shadowed by Kaneshiro and Medjed, but that there's a kid in her class who's started showing up covered in bruises and people are starting to talk.

Tanaka and Yuuki exchange a look.

“She's got the URL,” Tanaka says.

Yuuki nods. “I'll keep an eye out. Let me know if you hear anything else?”

“Don't I always?” Tanaka asks, and they move on to other things.

 

Yuuki's on his way back to the station when a text from Goro comes through.

 **May I buy you dinner?** it says.

Yuuki covers his smile with curled fingers and stops in a doorway of a closed pawnshop to reply.

**I suppose i can allow it what were you thinking**

**I planned to bring takeaway with me, if that's acceptable.**

**Youre such a nerd but yeah sure ill eat whatever**

**Excellent. I should arrive by 8:30.**

**Cool let me know when you get close so i know to put pants on**

He's nudging a little, wondering something he hasn't yet put into words. Goro responds, **;)** and he laughs.

**:p**

 

Back in his bedroom – it's nice to be able to go home whenever he feels like it, rather than wait until sundown or midnight or whatever time he's least likely to disturb anyone by existing – Yuuki gets some solid work done on the request front. He finds the blog of the stalker named in the post he found at lunch (thank you, tech illiterate masses, for continuing to use the same email address for both public and 'anonymous' social media accounts) and determines that, yeah, there's some stalking going on. He sends the link to Kurusu, then sets about sorting through new comments on the posts he boosted.

It's slow going but then he finds a contribution from some beautiful idiot confirming that this particularly violent string of muggings did, in fact, take place (not that anyone was doubting that), casually noting that he recalled the dates because those were the nights his roommate woke him up banging around the kitchen when he came home late. There were sirens around the same time.

That particular user's email address leads back to his Facebook, where he's got a few pictures of himself at home, with another guy. The OP on the original post was one of the mugger's victims, so Yuuki sends along a photo through the forum PM system. Half an hour later he gets a positive ID of THE GUY ON THE LEFT HOLY FUCK WHO IS HE??? He doesn't bother bugging Kurusu with this one; he just sends the tip along to the cops. 

Others are more complicated. The monk who frequents strip clubs is well-documented but no one can positively attest that he's misappropriating money to do it, so the thread keeps degenerating into people fighting over whether patronizing a strip club is, in itself, evidence of a distorted heart for a monk. Yuuki tries to stay out of general forum discussion but he's been tempted to wade in and just tell them the discussion is moot – he's not gonna ask the Thieves to steal a dude's sex drive, and the Thieves wouldn't do it if he did.

Then there's the pediatric oncologist who might or might not be preying on the distraught mothers of his patients. There's a name but the only actual accounts of the alleged crime are from the husband and ex-husband of a couple of the mothers in question, and they don't seem to be the most reliable of sources. The latter's posts are simmering with ill-contained rage, while the former seems to regard the doctor's conduct as a minor breach of etiquette; he wants his wife's heart changed.

Yuuki kinda wants to just ban these assholes but it strikes him as depressingly probable that all three of these horrible men exist together in these circumstances and, if the doctor really is doing this, he needs all the information he can get. (He still screens the shit out of their comments, thought.)

Kurusu responds to the stalker link with **got it** around the time he's reluctantly letting one of the unpleasant husband's less overtly unpleasant posts through. That's it for solid information, so he starts combing through new posts. There are less trolls to ban, now, but they still exist, and there's been an influx of garden variety spam that's been a pain to deal with. The filters he's cobbled together help but they aren't perfect and garbage still leaks through. Users are quick to flag it, which is nice, but it's still a lot of time eaten up with delete-blocking pornbots and con artists.

Now and again, he thinks of finding someone to help moderate. But the people he would trust (Tanaka, Tadami) wouldn't do it and the people who would do it (any of the users, half a dozen more a day currently, who have PMed him offering) he doesn't trust. (He suspects if Alibaba were interested, she would have just taken control, again, and kept it.)

So it's Yuuki against the bots, less giving voice to the voiceless than an internet garbage man. His memories of April and May are fragmented, a heavy haze spiked through here and there with visions like crystals, and none of those visions involve what he was expecting this whole admin thing to be like. Hopefully he didn't crush his own dreams too hard. Kamoshida'd already ground so many into dust; it would be a shame if he'd wasted another.

Goro texts a little after eight to say he's on his way and will collect their food en route. Yuuki has to blinks a few times at the phone screen to understand it but, once he does, he smiles. That smile morphs, all at once, into a yawn that cracks his jaw, and on into a broad stretch, shoulders and back creaking as they roll.

“Hm,” he says, blood seeming to flow faster through him, skin warming, joints tingling, dizzy and uncomfortably aware of his own body. His connection to it is so tenuous it is at times impossibly strange to realize that this warm, tired, aching thing he feeds and waters and tends to _is_ him, as much as his fear or his anger are. At least he knows what to do with those.

He rises to his feet and waits out the dizziness. Did he eat today?

Ami-chan chirrups as he considers the question, twines her softness around his ankles, rubs her face against his cargo pants. She's less insistent about marking them than she is the Shujin slacks, which have been on the floor, serving as her nest, since he got home and changed. He takes her nuzzles as a reminder to drape those over the drying rack in his closet; it's where clothes that need de-furring wait, when not being used for its intended purpose. The school shirt goes in the hamper and he tries to focus on the food question, rather than why he's clearing off his bed before Goro makes it over.

He heads downstairs and seats himself at the kitchen counter before giving in and thinking about whether Goro is thinking of fucking him and how he hopes so because he's having trouble figuring out a way to request it that won't prove mortally embarrassing.

Given the direction they've taken so far, he doubts that will be an issue.

Yuuki leans on the counter, fingers pressed to his lips, cheeks warm as he thinks about Goro thinking about him, thinks about Goro remembering fingering him at odd moments during the day. He remembers it, remembers Goro's face, all fire and focus, eyes fixed on his own fingers moving inside him, and Yuuki feels himself get warmer, tighten around nothing, as image links up with sensation in his head.

Ami-chan chirrups, again, and he looks down to find her on her hind legs, forepaws leaned on his seat. Feeling caught out, he says, “Oh, hey, sweetie,” and sits back, making room for her to creep up and into his lap. Her fur is soft under his fingers and she kneads into his legs with only the faintest prickle of claws.

Blowing Goro hadn't been bad, he decides, though his semen didn't taste any better than Yuuki's own. (Of course he's tried it. Anyone who says they haven't is lying.) It couldn't have lasted longer than a minute or two, and he was so bombed he probably wouldn't have cared if Goro had straight up deep throated him, but even accounting for that, he thinks he wouldn't mind trying it again. Although – 

A knock at the door rescues him from the mortification of explicitly contemplating which hole he most wants Akechi Goro to shove his dick in. That is definitely where that train of thought was going and the ease with which he's fallen into this is troubling enough without going full cockslut while he's petting his cat. She doesn't deserve that.

He pats her flanks and says, “Hey,” and it's signal enough for her to hop to the floor on her own, rather than suffer the indignity of being picked up and placed there. Her bell sounds, allowing him to track her movement towards the living room, as he goes to let Goro in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, is anyone still reading this?


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is porn.

Goro's brought sushi but the bag sits neglected by Yuuki's sneakers once the door is closed and, if Yuuki had a chance to think, he'd be glad he had time to slide the bolt into place before Goro was on him; he crowds him up against the door, takes hold of his hips and pins him there. His mouth is on Yuuki's pressing in with tender urgency suggestive of something much deeper and darker and Yuuki lets out a startled moan even as Goro's tongue pushes into his mouth. Yuuki's arms wrap around his shoulders without need for input from his brain and he kisses back with a hunger that startles him.

 _How does this feel so good?_ he thinks, as banked desire flares in his belly and brain.

Goro is pleased with his enthusiasm, is the gentle “mmm” Yuuki feels more than hears is any indication. His grip on his hips tightens and he presses Yuuki harder into the door. Yuuki holds on, gets as close as he can manage, and then Goro breaks away from his mouth for just long enough to say, “Come on, come on,” and lifts him against the door, takes Yuuki's weight and pins him between close wood and his own body. Yuuki helps, wraps his legs around him and chokes on a moan when he feels Goro's dick pushing hard and full against him.

Goro's mouth goes to his neck, all wet tongue and sharp teeth, from under his jaw on down, and Yuuki squirms, gasps, grinds against his erection, and when Goro bites him, really bites him, down low where his shirt can easily cover, Yuuki moans so loud he might be audible from the next building, to say nothing of through the door.

Yuuki burns with a not-quite-embarrassment he can't put words to, and pulls Goro's hair, urges him up for another long kiss, and muffles himself against his lips. He wants to speak, to say something – ask something, suggest something – but then one of Goro's hands comes to cradle the side of his face while the other curls tight under his ass and the shock of that touch – firm and sure, holding him, moving him, changing the angle of each kiss, and Yuuki realizes, along with a thrill of lust, that he feels powerless, in a specific and delightful way that promises him everything so long as he'll accept it.

Goro breaks from his mouth, rests their foreheads together, and says, “Fuck.”

“Uh-huh,” Yuuki agrees, dizzy with his own reality.

“I want you,” Goro says and Yuuki shudders.

“I got that,” Yuuki tells him. “Where do you want – ”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Goro says, once again, and his hips move, thrusting against Yuuki, and Yuuki sighs, ecstatic.

He wants this. He wants this so much, he never even realized how badly he wanted to be touched, to be seen, to be held and held still, to be wanted. Goro's hands are eager and firm, his eyes dark and they never seem to leave him, when they're together.

They kiss, again, hard, before Goro, still cursing, eases Yuuki down onto his feet. Yuuki leans into him, gripping his coat with both hands, and lets out a soft 'mm!' when Goro's arms fold tight around his back. He presses his face into Goro's neck, reveling in the force of his hug. He feels his nose nuzzling into his hair, hears each deep inhale and wonders whether Goro is sniffing him intentionally or incidentally. He doesn't mine either way.

Goro's lips brush his ear and, after another long breath, he speaks. “Your room?”

Yuuki can feel Goro's erection pressed against him, tantalizing through their clothes, more so once a hand drops to his ass and squeezes. It pains him to say anything but 'yes' but he manages to push out, “The food?”

“Later?” Goro asks, voice taught, hands tightening and loosening and tightening against on Yuuki's body.

“Fridge,” Yuuki accedes, and Goro kisses him hard, again, grabs the takeout bag in one hand and pulls Yuuki along with the other, to stow their dinner and then make, once again, for the bedroom.

 

“What happened in your – ah! – meeting?” Yuuki asks, breathless, as Goro bites at the minor arc of his hipbone. His shirt and Goro's coat are gone, their pants undone, and Goro is between his legs. His dick, hard and uncomfortably restrained by clothes Goro's dragged aside to lick beneath but otherwise left in place. Squirming against Goro's grip is no more effective now than it ever has been but that's why it feels good, why Yuuki keeps doing it.

Goro licks up the sparse trail of hair leading up to his navel then shifts to his other side, begins sucking a hickey into the dip of his waist.

“Ee – ah! Fuck!” Yuuki's not sure what sound that was, not sure he wants a mark there, but then one of Goro's hands leaves his hip and presses down on his trapped erection. “Fuck,” he says, again. “Oh, fuck – ”

Goro rubs Yuuki firmly through his clothes and goes back to biting his hips. Yuuki shudders, gasps, pushes up into his hand. Is Goro trying to make him come in his pants? He better not make him come in his pants.

Yuuki forces this thought out, pulling Goro's hair, and gets a snicker into his skin and a harder touch.

“Or what?” Goro asks.

“Or – ah – or you're doing my laundry – fuck!”

“Hmm.” Goro shoves his knee, forces Yuuki's thighs wider and buries his face there, for a moment. He keeps rubbing, angle strange, probably uncomfortable, but Yuuki can't really think about that, right now, because a few bright sparks are rising from the well of heat in his belly and his every breath is now coming out as a gasp.

“Goro,” he says. “Fuck, Goro – ”

Goro stops with a final, gentle squeeze, and Yuuki gulps in air, eyes stringing, frustration and relief swirling within him. Goro crawls up to prop himself up beside him, reaches out and pulls Yuuki in. The kiss is gentle, soothing, and Yuuki feels himself relax beneath it. When Goro pulls back, Yuuki blinks up at him – he doesn't know when he shut his eyes – and finds himself being watched.

“Hmm,” Goro says, and strokes his thumb along Yuuki's cheekbone. His eyes are dark, mouth a smug twist. He ghosts him fingers over Yuuki's lips and kisses him, again, just as soft, before resuming his inspection.

“What?” Yuuki asks, breathless. He lifts a hand to touch back, ends up with a handful of Goro's shirt.

“I'm remembering how you looked with my fingers inside you,” Goro says, and Yuuki feels his face heat up.

“You seemed to like it okay,” he says, because he can remember what Goro felt like; not just his fingers but the grasping of his other hand, the hunger of his kisses, the wet heat when he released all over Yuuki after only a few firm touches. It's still so surreal to him, this idea that he might be sexually attractive, but he's not going to question it.

“I did like it,” Goro tells him, and Yuuki warms further. “I enjoyed almost every aspect of it.”

Yuuki shifts, licks his lips. “Why 'almost'?” he asks, and both hopes and knows he's right about where Goro is going with this.

“Because it was just my fingers,” Goro says. “And I've been waiting to fuck you since the day we met.”

Yuuki shudders so hard that he thinks, for a moment, he might have actually come in his pants. Goro is suddenly even closer, his forehead pressed to Yuuki's, quaking with what he slowly recognizes as supressed laughter. Before he can process that enough to be offended or embarrassed, Goro is pressing hurried kisses to his mouth, still smiling and saying, “Beautiful, you're beautiful, this is ridiculous, you're ridiculous, I don't understand how I _got_ you – ”

Yuuki can't parse that last part and isn't going to touch any remarks assessing his appearance but he can agree with the rest; this is ridiculous. He likes it a lot.

He gets his arms around Goro's neck, again, pulls him into a longer, harder kiss, nips his lower lip, sucks on his tongue, aware as he does that he's goading him and delighted when it works. Goro squirms free, panting, mumbling curses, and says, “Off,” with a firm nod towards his lower body.

Yuuki complies, gets his remaining clothes off in the time it takes Goro to fight through a few buttons, and rolls over for the lube, now questionably concealed under the bed, in arms reach. Goro's shrugging out of his button-down when he turns back over, victorious, and Yuuki props himself on his elbows, watching with interest as he drags his undershirt over his head. He swallows, tries to bring some moisture back to his dry mouth, but it's a wasted effort and he doesn't care that much. It's remarkably difficult to care about anything except the sight of Goro's bare skin.

Yuuki has touched that skin before. There are marks on his clavicle, still, where Yuuki bit down two nights ago, fainter than yesterday. Yuuki finds this objectionable and resolves to renew them as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

Goro tosses the last of his clothes on the floor and Yuuki refocuses, past his shoulders and chest and on down. His mouth isn't so dry, all of a sudden; he swallows hard as he looks at Goro's cock and his face heats as he thinks he'd like to have it in his mouth, again.

“Ah,” he hears Goro say, and snaps his eyes up, again. “I see.”

Yuuki can't help looking, again. It's already wet at the tip and more fluid leaks out as he watches. He licks his lips, unthinking, and hears Goro's breath catch. He feels a tingle of embarrassment, drops his head lower, and then one of Goro's hands is tangling in his hair. His stomach slips as he hears him clear his throat.

“If you want to take the edge of,” Goro says, tone deceptively even as his hand trembles, “I'll last longer later.”

Yuuki can't hold in a shiver at the thought, feels his ass tighten around nothing, then flicks his eyes up to Goro's through his bangs.

“Oh, yeah?” he says, breathless. “What happened to self control?”

Goro's hand tightens in his hair and he speaks through gritted teeth.

“I didn't bend you over the counter in that heaven-forsaken cafe,” he says, “and I didn't shove my tongue up your ass in Inokashira Park. I've been a model of restraint. Now, tell me whether or not you want to suck me off.”

“Shit, yes.” Yuuki leans up as Goro pulls him in and they kiss, hard and sloppy, before he breaks away and says, “I'm gonna do that, now.”

“Thank you,” is Goro's preposterous reply, and Yuuki finds himself laughing as he twists onto his hip, and then his knees. He braces his hands on Goro's thighs then thunks his head against his chest, cackling to himself because this is dumb, this is so dumb, and then he moves, again, shuffles lower and leans further down. Goro's hand, still curled in his hair, goes tight and he groans, loud and deep, when Yuuki takes the first couple of inches into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he says, grip spasming against Yuuki's skull. “Fuck, _Yuuki_.”

Yuuki practices, a little, gets a feel for it – the angle is new and yesterday might have been his first time sucking a dick but his on-off libido once mandated thorough exploration of the idea, so he's not completely lost. He slides his mouth up and down, tasting sweat and precome, and he feels an answering throb in his groin when it pulses in his mouth. He starts sucking without quite noticing, hungry for the last of him, salty and bitter, unappealing and addictive. Goro shifts and Yuuki moves his grip to his hips, holding on tight. He's not going to get all of it, he's not even going to try, and he's certainly not going to let Goro do whatever he wants when neither of them knows what they're doing to begin with.

Goro squirms but doesn't really resist and when Yuuki gives a 'hmmm' of warning, Goro lets out a helpless moan and squirms harder.

“Fuck,” Goro grits out. “Fuck, Yuuki – that's – ”

Yuuki tries making a sound, again, gets another violent moan and shudder. Both of Goro's hands fist hard in the sheets and Yuuki moves more freely, applying pressure up and down and up, sucking so hard at the head his cheeks hollow, tonguing the wet tip, then sucking again.

“I can't – ” Goro gasps. “Yuuki – fuck, Yuuki, _more_ – your mouth is – so good – I want to fuck you so bad.”

Yuuki's dick pulses and he moans hard around Goro's cock. Goro curses, then speaks again.

“Make me come,” he says, “ and I'll do it.”

Yuuki sucks hard, takes more in, starts to choke and keeps going. His own erection is aching, desperate for contact he's not going to give it because that's not important right now, what's important is the dick in his mouth, is getting Goro off now so he can fuck him better later. Yuuki's body feels over-warm, face burning, dick heavy and damp, but as his ass tightens and relaxes and tightens, impatient, every shift of cool air against his hole is an irritation.

He moans, again, frustrated, feels Goro's hips jerk, then does it again, because he can hear Goro saying, “Beautiful, fuck, yes – ” He cuts off, gasping, then he's tensing and shivering and Yuuki keeps sucking, rubs the shaft with one shaky hand, as tears sting his eyes.

Yuuki swallows Goro's come when it spills, then flops over onto his back, eyes closed, trembling. He needs to come so bad it hurts.

He can hear Goro shifting, harsh breathing slowing, coming down from his release (release Yuuki hasn't had) before his hand lands in Yuuki's hair. Yuuki opens his eyes to look at him, blinks away the burn of tears. Goro, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, smiles down at him and Yuuki is suddenly and chillingly aware that Goro could easily just leave now. He's gotten off, had whatever power-trippy satisfaction he gets out of winding Yuuki up, even got to feel up his ass, already. There's no guarantee he'll see any reason to stay.

The ideas move through him, crushing in their conviction, and everything from his waist down screams at him. He can touch himself, he can finger himself, he can get himself off, but he doesn't want to, what he wants it –

“Fuck me,” he says, and reaches blinding for the lube. “Fuck me right now.”

Goro's eyes widen but he doesn't argue or move away. Instead, he grabs a pillow from the head of the bed – which is at Yuuki's feet, oops – and brings it with him when he lays down at Yuuki's side, tucks it under their heads as he puts his arms around him. The relief of touch, of being held, again, is so powerful that Yuuki feels weak with it but when Goro leans in, Yuuki kisses back hard.

Goro doesn't hesitate in shoving his tongue into Yuuki's mouth, heedless of where it's just been, and Yuuki moans, opens up for him, lets Goro have free reign while he keeps up responding pressure, compliant to every shift. When Goro draws back to breath, Yuuki shudders, gasps out 'please', and then he's being kissed, again.

He keeps asking – begging – as Goro kisses his cheeks, his jaw, his throat. There's a hand in his hair and one pinning his hip and Goro's body, so heavy and near, ratchets his desire up a notch each time they shift where they lay. Yuuki doesn't know how he can be this turned on without coming.

Goro's lips bush his ear and he shivers, fingers clenched tight in the blankets.

“Amazing,” Goro says and, before Yuuki can sort that out, bites his ear – the cuff, then lobe – then pushes his tongue into that one spot, the tender hollow where all of Yuuki's nerves seem too close to the surface.

“Ah!” Yuuki jerks, shudders, and Goro holds his hair tighter, keeps him ruthlessly still as he presses and twists and licks, sucks the earlobe, bites down, and licks back underneath. All the sensation is prickling, electric fire in his veins, straight into his aching erection, his twitching hole, and he needs something inside him so bad, so bad, fuck, please –

Goro breaks away from his ear and leans over him, reaching out for – something. Yuuki can't think, body too warm, too restless and weak. He thinks if Goro stops touching him he really will lose it.

Goro kisses his parted lips, again, tender and slow, interrupting his ragged breathing and raising prickles of sensation as his hair stands on end. It's so warm, so real, so good, and every part of him lights up in response. No one has ever wanted Yuuki to feel _good_ before.

The kiss breaks and Goro urges Yuuki up with him. He sits with his legs folded at the head of the bed and guides Yuuki to his knees over his lap.

“Is this okay?” he asks, hands moving up and goal Yuuki's sides, steadying.

“Y-yeah,” Yuuki says, and grips tight onto the headboard. “Yeah, this is – go on.”

“Okay,” Goro says, and regains the lube from the desk. Yuuki closes his eyes, concentrates on breathing (in for three, pause, out for three, which isn't quite right but it's the best he can manage) until he feels one hand curl tight into his hip, steadying, then two slick fingertips probing his cleft. He gasps, eyes squeezing shut, and can't relax until Goro's forehead nudges his, a low voice saying, “Easy.” Yuuki shivers, his next breath shakes as Goro finds his hole and paints it over with lube. He doesn't pause, as Yuuki mostly expects and entirely dreads, and when both slipper fingers hilt inside him, Yuuki's moan is as much gratitude as surprise.

“Thought so,” Goro says, and twists them. This angle isn't quite as good as when they did this before, but it's still really goddamn good, and Yuuki shakes. Goro slips out, leaving him empty and barely touched, and he curses, tears springing to his eyes as his head falls to Goro's shoulder. One fist pounds weakly on the headboard as the other still grips too tight. “I've got you,” Goro tells him, lips just brushing his ear. “All you have to do is breath.”

Yuuki turns his face further into his neck, wants suddenly to be held as badly as to be fucked, and then three of Goro's fingers are sliding into him. He bears down without realizing, a full-throated moan tearing its way out through the on-going cacophony of gasps and whimpers.

“Hmm,” Goro says, and twists his hand first one way, then the other, and Yuuki grinds down, letting out more moans that quickly turn into the desperate frustration of not enough, not enough, _not enough_.

There's not way he can come like this. He doesn't want to come like this. What he wants – 

Yuuki drops the hand not still supporting half his weight, searching blinking for Goro's cock. Goro grunts but barely flinches when he takes hold of it and that has _got_ to be a lie because, wow, is he ever hard. 'Taking the edge off' Yuuki's (apparently much sought-after) ass. Yuuki is suddenly breathing much faster.

“You're going to fuck me, now,” he says.

Goro's free hand buries itself in Yuuki's hair and tugs until their foreheads press together, again. He holds his jaw in his palm and kisses his mouth as his slips his fingers out. Yuuki sighs, moves both hands to Goro's shoulders, nudges their noses together. Goro's thumb strokes his cheekbone and Yuuki thinks it's shaking a bit.

“Like this?” Goro asks. “Or do you want to – ?”

“Like this,” Yuuki says. He feels wet inside, aware of his body in unfamiliar ways, of his hole and his passage and how empty they are. He wants.

Goro kisses him, again, hard and brief, then his hand drops from Yuuki's face for several long moments. When it returns, Goro says, “Hey. Look at me.”

Yuuki blinks several times, unsure how long he'd had his eyes closed. Goro is watching him, close enough to share his air, eyes shining midnight dark, only the barest hints of mahogony remaining. His cheeks are very pink, his mouth redder than Yuuki's memory can account for.

“Hey,” Yuuki says, and taps foreheads with him. His voice sounds rough, like the gentlest touch of sandpaper. Goro smiles.

“Hey,” he says. “Ready?”

“Shit, yes.”

Goro licks his lips and nods. “Okay. Sit up a little further. Now, move here.”

Yuuki inhales deep and lets Goro guide him, skin prickling as one hand grips his hip tight and the other – his breath catches when he looks down to see Goro steadying his own erection, liberally coated with lube, and then it's out of sight, pressing up against his entrance.

“Oh,” he says, and his hands close down tight on Goro's shoulders.

“G – go ahead,” Goro says, and when Yuuki looks (down, for once), he finds his face flushed, lips parted, eyes wide and glazed and fastened to him. His stomach flips and his dick aches and he takes the first couple of inches in a little faster than maybe he should.

“Oh my fuck – ” Goro stops himself, gasping, and both of his hands have attached themselves to Yuuki's hips, now. That's nice.

Yuuki can feel his muscles stretching, twitching in alarm, tightening and releasing around Goro's cock and he knows that if he waits, they'll adjust and settle and this will all be more comfortable. But he can also feel the tip, not far enough inside him, his own entrance squeezing the shaft, and it might be weird to think things like this but, whatever, his body is him, in this moment more than any other, and it is pulling Goro in, wanting him, and Yuuki wants him, so he closes his eyes, takes another deep breath, then releases it and meets Goro's glistening eyes.

“Are you – ?” Goro starts.

“Okay,” Yuuki says, and drops.

He's aware principally of the burn, the stretch and ache and _too much too much too much_ , braided in tight with the shock and flare of his sweet spot, rubbed too hard to process as pleasure, just yet, but so very much not pain, and there's a ripping burn in his throat left by whatever noise he makes and very, very suddenly, he is on the precipice of coming and he can't wait he can't _can't can't can't_ –

“Goro – fuck – Goro, plea – move – let – fuck fuck fuck – ” His speech shatters and he beats a weak fist into Goro's shoulder, and he tries to move and can't, Goro won't let him, he's sitting here on his cock, impales on it, and it's good, it's so good, it's everything he needs and he can't not come, he can't, and Goro won't let him, fuck, why, please, Goro, please – 

Goro's hands don't loosen, don't become less a steel trap around his hips, but they move and take Yuuki with them, just an inch or two up, sudden enough he gasps, and then down again, hard. Yuuki might scream.

Goro does it again, too many seconds later, sudden and fast, robotic if only he weren't panting and groaning, if Yuuki couldn't feel his cock hard inside him, and it's so fucking good and Yuuki wants, he wants – 

“Hold me,” he says – demands, blinking tears from his eyes. Goro stares at him, mouth half open. Yuuki manages to unclench his fists from their death grip, pulls at Goro's shoulders. “Please,” he says.

“I – yeah.” Goro sounds like his larynx has been through a meat grinder. He pries his hands loose from Yuuki's hips. “Of course,” he says, and straightens, hugging him around the waist as Yuuki clings back tight.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

Their movements have shifted, driven Goro somehow deeper as Yuuki's own cock, untouched all this time, is suddenly pressed warm between their bodies and he can't, he can't, he – 

“Goro – ”

“Go on,” Goro says.

“Oh, fuck – ”

Yuuki writhes, holding and held too tight to lift himself; he twists and grinds and works his hips and Goro's cock feels so good, so hot and solid, stretching him, opening him further than their fingers ever reached, and it feels like Yuuki is territory that Goro is claiming, and Yuuki doesn't care, Yuuki is great, Yuuki only wants this moment and to never feel anything else again.

A hand – Goro's – moves down to his ass while the other stays around him. Yuuki feels him stroke over the swell of one cheek, cup it in his palm, and squeeze. Yuuki shivers, and Goro shifts his grip, massages his handful, and Yuuki squirms and gasps, clenching tighter, and Goro's cock feels bigger, now, and Goro is grunting and moving, trying to thrust up, grip bruising tight, and then, very suddenly, Yuuki is on his back and Goro is pushing down into him, and there's weight and friction on his dick and force behind every thrust and Yuuki might scream when he comes or he might now. He's out too fast to find out.


	18. Chapter 18

The school trip is on the calendar, to the surprise of no one, but Yuuki still scowls at it the next morning. This will take some doing.

“Has the refrigerator done something to offend you?” Goro asks him, from the doorway of the kitchen. He's dressed in clean clothes, brought along in his school bag, and Yuuki can't reasonably be offended by his presumption.

“School trip,” he says, responding to the question rather than the sarcasm. “I was hoping they didn't have it marked.”

Goro moves closer, examines the notations in question. “I see,” he says.

No, he doesn't.

“It'd be easier to get out of it if they didn't know when it was happening,” Yuuki explains. “As is, if I tell them there's been a change to the schedule, it will be – inconvenient.” He kind of hates how much he sounds like his mom in that moment. His nose wrinkles. 

“Not a fan of international travel?”

“Not feeling it.” He shrugs. “Tanaka is planning to get bronchitis again.”

Goro huffs and Yuuki molds easily into him when his arms wrap around him from behind. It's a little strange, he thinks, how quickly he's gotten used to Goro's touch. To any touch at all.

“Should I know who that is?” Goro asks.

“Probably not. He did a quick fade off volleyball after first year.” Yuuki snorts. “He was smart. We still talk. Zeros gotta stick together.”

“You've used that word before.”

“Favored endearment of my middle school class. Tanaka's preferred 'loser' but it amounts to the same.”

“I suppose so.” Goro noses at the cuff of his ear. “And then you both found yourself at the tender mercies of Mr. Kamoshida.”

“It wasn't a great time,” Yuuki admits. “Neither of us are feeling the whole class bonding thing, just at the moment.”

“I can't imagine why not.” His lips touch where his nose had just nuzzles and Yuuki shifts.

“We've talked about the ear thing, Goro.”

Goro's huff is amused. “So we have,” he says, and instead leans his cheek into Yuuki's hair, hugging him tighter. “My mistake.”

“You're such a liar.”

“Mmhm. Prove it.”

Yuuki pinches the back of his hand. Goro bites his cheek.

“Ow! You jerk.”

Goro kisses the spot tenderly and says, “What's your plan, then? If not bronchitis?”

Yuuki leans his head back against his shoulder.

“Not sure. If Tanaka actually manages to get sick, he could infect me, but we're pressed for time. I'd be worried my symptoms wouldn't have time to develop.”

“. . . How does one intentionally contract bronchitis?”

Goro sounds like he doesn't actually want to know.

“He only did that the once. And I didn't ask.”

“That's probably for the best.”

“It was worth it.” Goro actually doesn't ask, this time, and Yuuki takes a moment to feel smug. “Mimi-chan might let me stay over,” he says.

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. Then I wouldn't have to deal with – ” He waves a hand at the nearly annotated calendar. “As long as I go somewhere for a few days, it's the same.”

“I see a slight difference between a school sanctioned trip abroad and spending several nights crashing with a drag queen in Shinjuku.”

“They won't notice,” Yuuki says, nodding towards the calendar. It occurs to him that he's been treating it as if it were the avatar of his parents, rather than a copy of their schedule. Then he thinks that, so far as he's concerned, there's not much difference. “They'd have to ask me about it to notice,” he adds.

“I see.” Goro sounds thoughtful. “In that case, you should stay with me.”

Yuuki tries to catch a glimpse of his expression, eyes narrowed. He's surprised and not sure if he should be. He's also not sure if he should be suspicious.

“Should I, now?” he says, flat.

“Yes,” says Goro.

“And do you just expect me to be your sex slave for three days or what?”

Goro snorts. “You've seen through me.”

“I'm not even sure you're capable of being in a room with me without trying to molest me, dude,” Yuuki tells him. “This is a reasonable concern.”

“Molest would imply that you have at some point objected to my attentions. Or at least not reciprocated them. Vigorously.”

“. . . I'm still not gonna be your sex slave.”

“I'm not actually asking you to.”

Yuuki turns around, the circle of Goro's arms loosening and closing, again, following his movements. His hands rest on Yuuki's lower back, gently spanning it on either side of his spine and that gives Yuuki a curiously warm sensation, low and curling. He feels his face begin to turn pink and ignores it.

“What are you asking, then?” he asks, and flattens his palms against Goro's shirt front. They move, when Goro leans in, wrap around his shoulders, but Yuuki doesn't notice, much.

(They're so much better at kissing, now, or maybe just at kissing at each other. They're great at that. They've got the approach down, the pressure, the pace, and Goro's lips are still as soft, his mouth still as deliciously warm, as captivating, as the first time. Yuuki really likes kissing. Or maybe just kissing him.)

He gives a little hum of contentment when they separate, looking at Goro through his eyelashes.

“Was that your argument?” he asks.

“No,” says Goro. “Just a whim.”

They kiss again.

“A recurring whim,” he adds.

Yuuki smiles into the third kiss, presses closer.

“I think they call that a habit.”

“Perhaps.”

The brief, nuzzling kisses are impossible to count, now.

“I guess everyone gets at least one vice.”

Goro's arms are warm around him. They need to go to school.

Yuuki breaks away from his mouth, rests his head on Goro's shoulder, flushed all through and breathing too deep. Goro sounds the same.

“I go to school and have work at the Shibuya precinct,” Goro tells him. “In addition to not _actually_ being an incubus, you'd be alone most of the time.”

“I figured,” Yuuki says. “I was messing with you, mostly.”

“Appalling.”

“I'm the worst,” he agrees. And then, “Sure. That sounds good. Thanks.”

There's a pause that lasts a couple of seconds too long before Goro replies.

“You're welcome.”

 

Yuuki manages to catch Kawakami alone at the end of the day. It's easier when he doesn't have to worry about someone else catching him. (He met Sakamoto's eyes in the corridor at lunch and his stomach clenched and his throat felt tight but Kurusu promised, he _promised_ – and then Sakamoto looked away and Yuuki had to uncurl his fingers one by one from the strap of his bag and flex them slowly to get the blood flowing right again.)

They talk in one of the alcoves in the courtyard, Yuuki leaning into a wall, one hand in his pocket, the other worrying hem of his shirt. Kawakami looks tired, lately, and giving her more shit to deal with feels wrong, somehow. But Yuuki spent months sitting in her classroom, terrified and bruised, and she barely seemed to notice, so he thinks he can ignore her being stressed without turning into a sociopath, again. She's the adult, here.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” she asks, and he realizes he's been staring at the concrete for longer than he can account for.

“Ah,” he says, and scuffs one toe against it. “It's about – the trip it coming up,” he says. “I know that it's – already arranged, and everything. But I don't think – I can't go. I won't be able to. I can't.”

“Oh!” She sounds startled. “Did something happen? Is your family – ?”

He's shaking his head before she finishes. “No,” he says. “N-not recently, I mean.” The tension in his chest is back. It's hard to breath through. “It's more of – Things haven't been great since – ” He waves a hand at the courtyard, the school, the world. “ – Before.” A glance through his bangs; Kawakami's face has turned red and she'd biting her lower lip. “So leaving home is a little – ” He stops, again, has no idea how to express what he needs to say. But she's nodding, now, like she somehow derived meaning from his word salad.

“Right,” she says. “I see. I can – I don't think anyone from the team feels safe with us, anymore. They're idiots, if they do.” Yuuki blinks at her, startled. She turns redder, hurries on. “I'll contact your parents and – ”

“No!”

She blinks at him, now, and Yuuki bites down on his hand for a second or two before covering his eyes with it.

“Please,” he says. “Don't contact my parents.” Another few seconds pass before he can gather the courage to look at her, again. Her expression is more shocked than suspicious. He goes on. “Don't. They – Our parents _knew_.”

It's not the first time he's said this, can't be the first time Kawakami's heard it, but people never stop being shocked. She hisses a breath and he fixes his eyes on the vending machine in the corner.

“Mishima-kun – ”

“They knew,” he breaks in, hugs himself as familiar, defensive rage bubbles up, loosens his tongue. “They know. None of it matters. It never did and it's never going to and neither does whether I spend four days in Hawaii or four days behind a dumpster in Shinjuku. None of it fucking matters.”

He knows as he says it that it sounds wrong, that he's gonna make her panic, and maybe that's what he wants. It's not like it's not true.

“Mishima-kun,” she says, again, then lets out a breath too heavy for a sigh. “Please tell me you aren't actually planning to sleep on the street.”

He shakes his head, catches a glimpse of her hand pressed to her forehead. “A friend said I could crash with him.” That doesn't seem like the right word to describe Goro but it's all Yuuki's got. “He goes to a different school.”

“And his parents?”

“Dead.” Only half a lie. “He lives alone.”

There's a pause that lingers. Yuuki's skin prickles and his fingers knot up in his shirt. Kawakami sighs, again. Too heavy, defeated. Yuuki looks over and she's hugging herself, too, eyes on the ground.

“I'll cover for you,” she says.

Yuuki swallows hard, licks his lips. He almost says something but she goes on.

“I don't have the right to ask for anything, but – ” She shakes her head. “Let me give you my phone number. And text me if you need help.”

Yuuki hesitates.

“What can you do from Hawaii?” he asks.

There's a pause, then she nods to herself, like a decision being made, and meets his eyes.

“I'm staying here,” she says, with a bitter twist of a smile. “The police investigation is on-going and they've asked that some faculty stay behind.”

Yuuki's heard something about that – some of the third years are coming along as surrogate authority figures – but he's absolutely sure Kawakami was still scheduled to chaperone as of lunch time. He doesn't voice those thoughts, though. He goes with, “They still think you know something?”

“Of course. We do.” She laughs, steeped in self-mockery that's uncomfortably familiar. “We might not have put words to it, but we were there. We were here. We saw him, we saw you. If we 'didn't know', it's because we didn't want to.”

Yuuki flinches, watches her for a few seconds longer, then averts his eyes. He loosens one hand from his shirt and fishes his cellphone from his pocket.

“Okay,” he says. “What's the number?”

 

(He arrives home that night, well after his parents should be back, to an empty apartment and a new note on the calendar. 'Dinner out', he reads, as Ami-chan headbutts his calf, meows up at him. He looks down at her, crouches to take her in his arms. “Is this how we're playing it, now?” he asks. She meows again. “I can live with that.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the increased chapter count. It may change again. Also, you may notice that this is now a series. The other part of the series is made up of deleted scenes. There is currently one posted; the next will appear soon.


	19. Chapter 19

The next dinner party is on Friday. Yuuki duly texts Goro the particulars (He gets a **;)** in return, and wrinkles his nose at it. Gross.) and heads home right after school. The break in routine itches under his skin and walking into the apartment while the sun it still up feels a little like sneaking into the faculty room, back when swiping the keys to the nurses office was part of his routine. This is a place that isn't his to enter and nothing good awaits him if its rightful occupants catch him and find his motives wanting.

His father, he knows, won't be home for another hour or two yet. His mother – 

“Yuuki?” She appears in the kitchen door, eyes a little wide. He looks like her, mostly – pale and barely any taller, hair the same color, if a little less fine, cheekbones and mouth the same shape. He got his dad's eyes, other features plucked from further back in the family line. He's so much their child, from above, and probably all of them wonder how he grew into a different species.

“Yeah, hi,” he says, and holds his bag a little tighter.

“You're early,” she says. “We weren't – I didn't expect you until later.”

He shrugs.

“Not much going on, today,” he says. “I was gonna try and nap before I start my homework. Where's Ami-chan?”

A jingle answers him, followed by the creature herself, sliding out of the living room to twine through his ankles. He smiles down at her; she yowls.

“She was in the kitchen with me, for a while,” his mother says as he reaches down to lift his cat. “She never lets me pick her up like that,” she adds. “She's started letting me pet her when I give her treats, but as soon as they're gone she wants nothing to do with me, again.”

Yuuki cradles Ami-chan close, nuzzles his face briefly into her ruff.

“Cats,” he says. “You're not her person, I guess?”

Ami-chan has settled in, eyes closed. Her tail flickers against his arm. Yuuki's mother smiles.

“I guess,” she says. And then, “You know we're having guests for dinner?”

Yuuki shrugs. “I'll stay in my room,” he says, saving her from figuring out how to tell him that he isn't welcome at the table, and himself from having to say 'yes' or 'no'.

“Alright,” she says. “I'll leave yours for you.”

She's said that to him so many times; not so much, recently, but before, back when he came home after school. They fall from her lips just as easily, now.

He replies, “Thanks, Mom,” and that's the same, too. It's strange how little things have changed in his family, in his home. Every other part of his life has shifted and morphed, made strange new shapes just as dangerous as the old. Here, though, everything is still – flat and barren, a void into which he sometimes retreats. He's not sure if that should be comforting or not.

 

Contrary to what he told his mom, Yuuki knocks out some homework before he tries for a nap. He's feeling weirdly calm, alert but not on-edge, and, carefully not thinking too much about it, he decides to toss some of that steady focus at his English assignment and see what happens. And hour later, he snaps a couple of photos of the finished product and sends them to Tadami, whose English is one of Mimi-chan's most marketable skills. The reply that comes when he's settling in for his nap brings with it the phantom scent of intoxication.

**chck ur tense n 4 n plrl forms n 7 n 8 n ur guuuuud**

**Thanks** Yuuki replies, strangely sad, then adds, **Stay safe**

**ahahahaaha ur so sweeeeet**

**ty**

**ur good yuuki good boy**

**Drink some water please**

**o7**

**okoko ilu bb**

**gnite**

**Good night.**

Yuuki adds a period, feeling the finality of it, and ending the conversation. He puts the phone aside, then – well, drops it off the side of the bed – and settles down into the blankets. He's stripped down to his boxers and tshirt, feels a tingling warmth ripple up along his limbs. He never quite notices how tense he's been until he starts to relax.

Light-headed, he flops a wrist over his eyes and breathes. The end of the bed dips and a weight, compact and familiar, shifts and stirs, then settles down by his feet. He prods Ami-chan with his foot and she grumbles.

“Love you, too, babe,” Yuuki says, smiling. “Wanna take a nap together?”

Her paws press into his calf, begins to knead.

“Sounds good,” he says.

Another long moment, another few steady breaths, and he rolls onto his side, tucks a hand under his pillow and curls the other over his stomach. He blinks at the wall, eyes half-focused in the dimness.

“Mm,” he says, to break the silence, and nestles deeper into the mattress. There are thoughts clustering at the edges of his mind, words and images that crush and dissolve into static as he draws himself in. The sheets – changed the night before – were cool, are warming, now, against his skin. He can feel Ami-chan pressing against him, can feel her body expand and deflate with each breath. It's peaceful – comfortable. Being here, in his own bed, with his own cat dozing close by, is the most reliable comfort he's ever known, and there have been plenty of days too dark for even Ami-chan to lighten. Today isn't one of them; he feels better. He wonders if dying will feel like this and closes his eyes, hoping.

 

Yuuki wakes a couple of hours later – longer than he meant to sleep – as his parents guests start to arrive. The doorbell rings through every room in the apartment and he's no longer accustomed enough to its chimes to sleep through them.

It's a gentle awakening, at least, lets him rise to consciousness without urgency; he knows he's not the one who has to attend to the bell. His eyes open at length and he blinks a few times at the same slice of wall he saw before he went to sleep. He hasn't moved at all.

Ami-chan has taken up her favorite post, loafed in the dip of his waist. He yawns, drawing his body in, then relaxes back into place; she grumbles, paws flexing, and resettles along with him. Seeing no reason to disturb her further, Yuuki doesn't move, basking in the weight of her. He lies still, drifting, comfortable, and hears the bell again.

He thinks he should probably get up.

He's not going to.

But he should.

Ami-chan breaths atop him.

The bell sounds again a few minutes later and Yuuki lets out a sigh. He doesn't know what time it is but he's got to have less than an hour before Goro arrives and – does whatever it is he's going to do. Make himself pleasant, Yuuki guesses. Make everyone around him uncomfortable. Snuggle a bit, maybe.

Yuuki shoves his face into his pillow. He knew letting himself get used to being touched was a mistake. He's expecting it, now.

For a moment, he regrets that there's no way to kill himself without moving Ami-chan, then realizes that the depletion of his body heat would end up disturbing her anyway. There's just no winning.

A text alert rises from behind him and he sighs, again, then reaches to pat his cat's flank.

“Off,” he says, and pats her again. She grumbles but slides down to the mattress, freeing him to flop over and search out his phone.

It's Goro, of course, and it says he'll be there in fifteen minutes. Yuuki fires off a thumbs up and, before he can notice how cozy his bed is, flips the blankets off and hauls himself upright. He should at least put pants on.

Decision made, he flips on the desk lamp, then the overhead, and drags some cargo pants on over his boxers. His room feels unpleasantly cool after the warmth of bed and he's too weak to resist climbing back in and dragging the blankets over his legs as he sits back against the headboard. Ami-chan rattles around on the floor, out of sight, and Yuuki unlocks his phone, again, wondering how much spam he can get through in fifteen minutes.

The bell rings when he's boosting a request (teacher coming on to students, again, because at least half of Tokyo's educators are perverts, apparently) and he thinks about ignoring it. He could – feign sleep, or feign death or something – but knows it would be a temporary measure. Besides, he's kind of curious to know what bullshit Goro actually has planned.

He shuffles out, onto the landing, phone tucked away in his pocket, and slouches against the wall at the top of the stairs. From here, he can hear what happens below without being seen. The faintest creak of the front door reaches him, and then his mother's voice.

“Hello?” she says. It's the steady, respectful tone she always uses around company but it hooks up at the end, a question. A voice Yuuki has come to know almost as well replies.

“Ah, hello!” Bright and friendly – respectability, yes, but more gleaming than the staid solidity of Yuuki's parents. “You must be Yuuki-kun's mother. I'm so sorry we haven't spoken before now, but he tells me you travel with your husband. It's lovely to meet you, at last. I'm Akechi Goro.”

'Yuuki-kun'. He mouths the phrase, nose wrinkling.

“Oh, yes,” his mother says, still steady, but a little too loud. He wonders if she's unconsciously mimicking Goro, who's projecting for the whole apartment to hear. “Yes, I know. How can I help you, Akechi-kun?”

Akechi laughs – the light, easy laugh that's obviously fake for the same reason Tanaka's silent spasms are obviously sincere. No one's real laugh is that aesthetically pleasing.

“I'm here to see Yuuki-kun,” he says. “I sent him a text earlier. I thought – ah, I didn't hit send, no wonder.” A second later, Yuuki's pocket vibrates. “Better late, I suppose,” Goro says, cheerful.

The text reads **Coming by soon! Good news.** Yuuki glares at it.

“I can't begin to tell you how glad I am to have met your son,” Akechi says, clear and earnest. “His assistance has been invaluable in the recent cyber-stalking cases, to say nothing of – I'm sure he told you the mess I made of my own security. It's rather embarrassing, but I don't like to think what might have happened if he hadn't come along when he did. I know all high school students are supposed to just _get_ these things but I've never been a natural with technology. His proficiency is highly impressive. You must be proud of him.”

Yuuki, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips, thinks about the vacation he took with his family, back in middle school. It might have been their last trip together. They went to the beach and he recalls thinking of drowning himself in the ocean. He wonders why he didn't.

After a pause that feels awkward even to him, Yuuki hears his mother, again, steady and demure.

“Of course,” she says. “Won't you come inside? My husband will be very pleased to meet you, as well.”

“Thank you,” says Akechi. And then, “Oh, do you have guests?”

His mother's voice dips lower, deferential, but Yuuki knows this public-face cadence, maybe better than he knows the flatter, grimmer tone she uses when there's no one around worth noting. He catches 'colleagues' and 'shortly'. When she finishes, Akechi says, “I'm so sorry. It's kind of you, but I couldn't possibly intrude any further.”

Yuuki misses whatever comes next. Ami-chan has slipped out to join him, nuzzling between his ankles, sniffing his feet. On a whim, he picks her up before heading down the stairs. She grumbles but settles quickly; she's used to being carried, just as he's used to carrying her. Her familiar bulk keeps him present as he descends.

Goro sees him first – the stairs end at a straight shot from the front door and he's lingering there, facing Yuuki's mother, who's angled so Yuuki sees mostly her back. He meets Goro's eyes, tired, but feels his own lips quirk at the thousand watt smile he turns on like a switch.

“Ah!” Goro says, not quite interrupting whatever his mom was saying. “Here's Yuuki-kun.” He takes a couple of steps and Yuuki moves forward to meet him.

“Senpai,” he says, because why not? “Hey. Your text just came through.”

“I just sent it,” Goro replies. “Forgot to, earlier. Sorry for the trouble.”

Yuuki shrugs. “Not me you're troubling,” he says, and looks past Goro, towards his mother, who looks back with eyebrows barely raised. He shrugs, again. “Sorry, Mom.” He moves around Goro to address them both. “And – ah – this is Akechi Goro. We've been hanging out together, a bit.” He looks at Goro, who's pouting at him. “Goro-senapai, this is my mother, Mishima Kyouka.”

“Hanging out a bit,” Goro sniffs. “A fine way to put it.” He addresses the cat still lounging in Yuuki's arms. “Are you listening to this, Ami-chan? I'm insulted.”

He's tempted to correct Goro, tell him it's pronounced 'ridiculous', but settles on, “She never listens to me. She's a cat. What are you talking about?”

“It's usually called friendship.”

Yuuki supposes that, under some definition of the term, he and Goro might be friends. It would have to be a very expansive definition, or possibly very narrow. He nods.

“Mom,” he says. “I'd like you to meet Akechi Goro. We're friends.”

Goro beams. Yuuki's mother has collected herself, reverted to the half-smile she wears with her dinner clothes.

“I'm pleased to meet you, Akechi-kun,” she says.

It's at this moment her husband appears. Yuuki feels himself flatten, all his sharp points pressing in to form a surface, uniform and frictionless. His mother is at times uncomfortable with him, mostly disinterested, and Yuuki has found it easiest to mirror her attitude, to let them move past each other and never touch. But his father – his father shares her disinterest but, on the occasion he happens to notice, he disapproves. Yuuki's grades, his diction, his athletic ability, back when they kept tabs, and, it often appears, of Yuuki as a physical object. It's the space he takes up, the way he moves through it, or maybe just how he looks within it; whatever it is, active disapproval is harder to dodge than discomfort and Yuuki mostly deals by staying out of the line of fire.

“Kyouka,” his father says, and the corners of his eyes tense when they come to rest on his son. “And Yuuki.”

“Father,” Yuuki says, diving for it. “This is a friend of mine, Akechi Goro. I didn't know he was stopping by. Akechi-senpai, my father.”

His father takes a moment, eyeing them like he hadn't noticed Goro standing there until Yuuki pointed him out. Goro takes the moment to bow.

“I apologize for intruding,” he says. “I had no idea you had guests.”

Something akin to calculation steals across his father's face. Yuuki knew, the moment he appeared, that there were two ways this might go. Either they're about to be dismissed, politely but comprehensively, or – 

“Ah, Akechi-kun.” His father takes two steps nearer. “Mishima Ryosuke. It's an honor to have you in our home.”

Yuuki doesn't close his eyes or breath any deeper than usual. Door number two it is.

“I regret we had no prior warning you planned to join us. Please, allow me to introduce you.”

Yuuki remains static, keeps his breathing steady, slow. Goro laughs, rubs the back of his neck.

“Ah,” he says. “That's really not necessary, Mishima-san.”

“But I insist,” Yuuki's father says. Goro shakes his head.

“I do appreciate the thought,” he says, “but Yuuki-kun's input – you already know how knowledgeable he is, of course, but he's really been invaluable. I'd be delighted to join your family, ordinarily, but we're on a bit of a time crunch sorting out the loose ends. Yuuki,” he adds, smile a dozen degrees warmer as their eyes meet. “Did you get the file I sent?”

Yuuki goes with it.

“Yeah, I saw. I figured you'd want to meet up tomorrow, though, or I'd have – ” Goro shakes his head, again.

“I'm meeting with the prosecutor's office in the morning. They just let me know. I'm sorry, I thought we had more time.”

“It's cool. That's how this works, right? We're almost done.”

“Small mercies,” Goro says, and laughs. He's moved towards Yuuki and turns to bow first to his mother – “it was lovely to meet you” – and then his father – “thank you, again” – before facing him. “Shall we?”

Yuuki turns back towards the stairs. “Come on, then,” he says, and if he moves a bit faster than usual, well, his parents probably won't notice, and Goro keeps pace. Ami-chan – he'd almost forgotten he was holding her – grumbles and squirms as they ascend the stairs, but he doesn't put her down, doesn't feel his heartbeat begin to ease, until they're up in his room, closed in with the door locked.

Yuuki slumps forward against it.

“Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?” he asks, and lets his cat slip from his arms. Goro 'hmm's as she jingles away; the delicate crunch of kibble between tiny fangs follows.

“I didn't think so.”

Yuuki lets his forehead thunk against the door, feels hands at his hips. “You're so full of shit.”

“Yes, well, I've spent a lot of time on television. What's your excuse?”

Yuuki doesn't dignify this with a response. He doesn't say anything, just leans into the door, fist curling against the frame.

Goro's voice is lower, speculative, then. “You never said you were afraid of them.”

“I'm not, really. I just feel – exposed.”

“You said they never really saw you,” Goro recalls.

“There's nothing to see.” He shakes his head against the wood. “You made them look.”

Goro moves closer, close enough for their clothes to brush.

“That was the idea,” he says.

“I know,” says Yuuki. “But it still – feels weird.”

“I see.”

There's a pause between them. Yuuki hears a voice downstairs, indistinct. Sound only carries this far from the entry hall. So long as conversation is kept to the living room, dining room, and kitchen, they won't even know it's happening. Goro's grip on his hips tightens.

“May I?” he asks.

Yuuki doesn't know exactly what he's asking but he gets the general idea. “Sure.”

He feels Goro's nose against his ear, then his neck, and when he turns his head, he gets a kiss pressed to his temple. Goro's arms snake around him, pull him away from the door, bodies drawn flush, and Yuuki lets his head drop against his shoulder. He smiles up at him and Goro smiles back.

“What would scandalize them more?” Goro asks. “You blowing me, or me blowing you?”

Yuuki considers the question.

“You blowing me, probably,” he says. “But we are _not_ having sex while they're home.”

“I presumed,” Goro replies. “I'm making an agenda for your visit to _my_ apartment.”

Yuuki smiles wider, teeth peeking out.

“You're inviting me over so you can blow me?”

“Yes. Are you free Sunday?”

Yuuki closes his eyes, turns into Goro's neck. He wonders what he'll look like, being smug around a mouth full of dick.

“I'll pencil you in.”


	20. Chapter 20

Tanaka isn't at school on Monday. Yuuki was expecting this, knows how these respiratory adventures go.

On Tuesday, Tanaka comes in at midday, dressed in a hoodie, pale and heavy-eyed, with his older brother beside him. Yuuki is lurking around the front office for the occasion.

He slips into the seat on Tanaka's other side and nods hello to his brother, who returns then courtesy then goes back to glaring holes in the walls. Yuuki gets it. He holds out a fist to Tanaka, who bumps it then buries his hand in his hoodie pocket, again.

“Hey,” he mumbles.

“What's up?” Yuuki asks, as if he doesn't know.

Tanaka shrugs. “Usual.”

“Bronchitis, again?”

“Mmhm.”

“That sucks, dude.” He flicks a glance at Tanaka's brother – taller and more slender, with a resting bitch face that rivals Rini-chan's. It's softest when he's in his own home and at it's most vicious within the halls of Shujin.

Yuuki looks back at his friend.

“Guess neither of us are going to Hawaii,” he says. Tanaka blinks a couple of times, slowly.

“Guess not.”

“Good,” his brother puts in, rage oozing out around each word. “If anyone in this fucking city had two brain cells to rub together, they would arrest this whole shitty carnival of incompetants, not hand over even more lives for them to ruin.” He's loud enough to be heard throughout the first floor, which is probably the point.

“Bro,” Tanaka says, and drags one hand up to massage his forehead. His hair is ruffled, sticking up at the hairline; someone else here has been restlessly petting it, and it's not Yuuki.

His brother huffs, but Kawakami appears before he can spew any more vitriol. She looks frazzled, hair mussed and eyes ringed. Yuuki frowns; she didn't look this bad in homeroom. She returns the look.

“Mishima-kun?” she says, confused.

Yuuki is confused about why she's confused until he remembers that Tanaka doesn't have friends. Not in meatspace, anyway. Not so far as anyone else knows.

_Well, shit._

He looks at Tanaka. Tanaka shrugs.

_Okay, then._

“Hi,” Yuuki says.

This drama lasts less time than it takes for the elder Tanaka to stand up and step forward, arms folded.

“You're my brother's homeroom teacher?” he says. “Tanaka Kento, I'm on his forms. He's not going to Hawaii.” He spits the word like it's a worm he's found curled under his tongue and Yuuki can sympathize with both the tone and with Kawakami's sudden step back.

“I – what?” she says.

From his seat, Yuuki watches the back of Tanaka Kento's neck turn red.

“I _said_ , he isn't _going_ to _Hawaii_.”

He picks up volume with each word and, by the end, Yuuki is wincing.

“Bro,” Tanaka says, from Yuuki's side. “Take it down a notch or ten?” His voice is muffled, face buried in his hands.

Kawakami, pressing her forehead as she had the day she and Yuuki spoke alone, puts in, “Well, that makes three of us.” Then, she looks up at Tanaka Kento, again, back straight, jaw set. “Come with me, please. I'll need your ID and then there's a form you'll need to fill out. It shouldn't take long.” She looks past him, meets Yuuki's eyes. “I'm sure Mishima-kun can keep your brother company.”

Tanaka's brother follows her line of sight, nods. “Back shortly, Dai-chan.”

Unfazed by the diminutive, Tanaka waves him off and he follows Kawakami into the office. Almost immediately, Yuuki gets an elbow to the ribs.

“Stop worrying about it,” Tanaka says.

Yuuki, who was definitely worrying about it, frowns. “About what?”

Tanaka doesn't bother looking at him.

“I appreciate the care you've taken to respect my – somewhat extreme display of boundary-setting at the beginning of year,” he says. “Really. I haven't been comfortable with – I don't need to tell you that.”

“No, you don't,” Yuuki agrees.

Everyone deals with their shit differently: vigilante justice, cyber bullying, unwise choices in sexual partners. Tanaka's fortress of solitude isn't that weird.

“Right.” Tanaka nods. “This is fine. It's less of a concern than it would have been earlier in the year and my brother and Kawakami are unlikely to attempt to weaponize us against one another.”

'Less of a concern'. Ha.

“Fair enough,” Yuuki says. “I'm really sorry, though. I wasn't thinking.”

“I forgive you,” Tanaka replies, “on the condition that my doing so alleviates any and all guilt or anxiety you feel relating to this issue. If you can't agree to these terms, I'm taking this grudge to my grave.”

Yuuki huffs.

“Consider me alleviated,” he says.

“I'm glad to hear it. Grudges are so _messy_.”

Yuuki elbows him. Tanaka elbows back.

“Man,” Yuuki says. “I always forget you've got a given name.”

“I could say the same of you,” Tanaka replies. “Though I did think I heard it from Kurusu-kun a couple of days ago.”

Yuuki rolls his eyes.

“I did _not_ tell him he could do that,” he says. “He just started, and then Sakamoto did, too, and then – honestly, it'd be too much of a pain in the ass to fight them, so, whatever.”

“Ugh.”

“Uh-huh. I'm not using theirs, though. Ever, if I can help it. I refuse.”

“Hm,” Tanaka says. “Well.” Yuuki looks over to see him straightening his back. “You can use mine, if you're feeling spiteful. For contrast.”

Yuuki blinks at him a couple of times, then laughs.

“Daiki,” he says. “Then, you can call me Yuuki.”

Daiki looks over and their eyes meet.

“I appreciate that,” he says.

Yuuki smiles.

 

Daiki goes home with his brother; Yuuki goes back to class. He's got a text from Rini-chan, a photo of a martini glass and a link to the police tracker, which doesn't give any more information than the crime (rape, assault), the area (Shinjuku), and a time (the small hours of the morning) that might refer to the incident or the report. Yuuki's never been sure.

He flips back to the photo, examines it more closely. There's water in the bottom of the glass, enough for a melted ice cube, and a smudge on the rim. The bar it's sitting on is Cascades, familiar from the fall of the light, or the grain of the wood; something like that, and Yuuki's not going to examine how he recognizes it so easily.

**Another?** he asks, but he isn't expecting anything back, not for a few hours, at least. Rini-chan isn't sociable at the best of times. This time she surprises.

**maybe**

**ill keep you informed**

Yuuki stares, considers taking a screenshot for posterity, then just puts his phone away. Weird.

Kawakami calls them all to order, last period, and says there's been a change of plans with the trip. Yuuki has a good idea of what she's going to say, but he's the only one, so small sounds of horror immediately begin to bubble up around the room. Kawakami scowls.

“Stop that,” she says. “Don't panic until I'm done talking.” It's probably the least reassuring way she could have dealt with that but it does shut everybody up. She huffs. “Thank you. Now, as I was saying, there has been a change of plans. I've been asked to stay here so Mr. Hiruta will be chaperoning in my place. For those who don't know, already, several of us have been required to stay behind and we've chosen some third year students to go along and assist. That's it for the trip. Those of you who are staying behind will have a writing assignment. I'll be emailing the details later this afternoon. Now, then – yes?”

It's Kurusu's hand in the air, for maybe the first time, and Kawakami's jaw is so tense Yuuki wonder if her teeth will crumble when she opens her mouth.

“Staying behind?” he asks, voice mild, like it's nothing more than idle curiosity that's inspired him to speak up, like half the class has ever heard him say a word that wasn't pried free by a cold call. Kawakami doesn't look impressed; Yuuki isn't either.

“That's what I said,” she tells him, tells all of them. “If this is the first you're hearing of it, you don't need to worry about it.”

Yuuki isn't look, has kept his eyes forward, but he can sense Kurusu coming within a breath of responding before he backs down. A tactical retreat rather than a surrender, Yuuki assumes. Kawakami nods.

“Then,” she says, “if there are no other questions, we'll move on.”

Yuuki feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

He ignores it.

 

Kurusu's first text just says, **hey**. It's followed ten minutes later by, **did she mean you?**

Yuuki would feign confusion but he thinks they're pretty much past that, especially given that the third text, received just as he's moving out through the school gates, is from Alibaba and it says, **WTF R U NOT GOIN TO HAWAII?????**

She doesn't usually act like a small breeze will break him, so Yuuki's more inclined to answer her. He sends her **¯\\_(ツ)_/¯** , because 'answer' isn't the same thing as 'inform'.

**WHY??????**

**¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**

**DUDE WTF**

Yuuki finds himself smirking as he gets on the train.

**Didnt feel like it** , he tells her.

**?????? and ur school just ACCEPTS that????**

**Nah**

**But ive got trauma so they dont ask**

It's more misdirection than untruth. Yuuki gets on the train.

**whatre u gonna do then???? alone?????**

**Writing assignment sounds like**

**Mess with the site**

**Take naps**

**Jerk off**

Her **blehhhh** is expected. He replies, **:D** and doesn't get anything back right away. Whatever. He slips his phone back into his pocket, tips his head back to look at the ceiling of the train car.

He'll head straight home, he thinks. Pack and tell his mom he's going to bed early, leaving early in the morning. It's true enough. He'll text Goro, too, ask what time he can arrive. The meet-up time for the trip (faithfully recorded on the calendar) is before Goro has to leave for school, so hopefully he can go straight there, rather than finding somewhere to lurk with his luggage.

It sounds nice, he thinks, having a whole day of privacy, someplace he doesn't have to stare at his parents' calendar every time he needs something to drink, look at his dad's shaving kit in the bathroom and his mom's tea service in the dining room, at the lamp in the living room that only obscures their last family photo from most angles.

Yuuki jerks his mind away from that, frowns hard at the black blazer in front of him.

He's going to miss Ami-chan, of course. He'll have to make sure feeding her is on the calendar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all, sorry for the unexpected hiatus. I discovered a couple of necessary scenes that did not, strictly speaking, exist yet. This entire chapter, for instance! So I've been fighting with them and we will hopefully be back on something resembling a schedule soon, just in time for canon divergence to begin in earnest. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me. I appreciate you.


	21. Chapter 21

Around the time the most fastidious of his classmates are beginning to gather (the Theives, save Niijima, won't be there yet) Yuuki is getting buzzed into Goro's apartment building. He ascends in silence, moving up the stairs and down the hall on his own for the first time. He thinks he should maybe feel nervous about that, but what he mostly feels is tired. Maybe the anxiety will spring up, again, once he's had a nap.

Hey, he can have a nap. He can sleep all day, if he wants.

Yuuki is smiling as he knocks on the door. Goro opens it, smiles back, and says, “You're in a good mood this morning,” then steps back to let Yuuki in.

“I'm gonna go to sleep,” Yuuki tells him, “and no one can stop me.” He drops his duffle bag as punctuation and meets Goro's amused stare.

“I see.” Goro flips the bolt on the door. “I certainly won't,” he adds, and reaches out. Yuuki feels his own smile widen.

“Better not,” he says, as Goro's hands curl around his hips, and allows himself to be drawn in. He likes to be reached for, pulled in close; Goro likes to be welcomes, allowed, likes it when Yuuki follows his touch. A satisfactory arrangement.

“Of course,” Goro says. “Though I might be tempted to join you.”

“You have school,” Yuuki replies, and doesn't try to sound like he's not gloating. He is totally gloating.

“Sadly, yes,” Goro says. “A proposition made both better and worse by the knowledge that you plan to spend that time in my bed.”

Yuuki's cheeks warm; it's inevitable, though he's pretty much used to Goro saying shit like that.

“I'm gonna drool all over your pillows,” he says.

“Oh, no. Yuuki's bodily fluids getting on my linens. Whatever shall I do?”

Yuuki snorts.

“Loser.” He squeezes Goro's hands where they still grip his hips. “Go to school.”

“In a moment,” says Goro, and leans in until their lips can touch. Yuuki laughs into the kiss and, when they part, holds Goro's hands in between them.

“Fuck off, now,” he says.

“I suppose.” He squeezes Yuuki's hands. “If I must.” He pulls one up to kiss the knuckles and lets go, then reaches for his briefcase, waiting by the door. “I've left the spare key on the kitchen counter. The front door code is written down. Not that I particularly expect you to make use of it.”

“I'm gonna bring in like seven prostitutes,” Yuuki tells him. “We're going to play bridge.”

Goro shakes his head. “Such a busy day you have planned,” he says. “I suppose I'll leave you to it.” He leans in for a final kiss. “Don't forget to defile my sheets for me,” he adds. “The thought will sustain me through my physics exam.”

Yuuki bites his nose. The shocked squeak it earns him is the best thing he's every heard, outside of sex.

Once he's gone, Yuuki drops his bad in the bedroom then, contrary to his initial claims, settles on the couch with his laptop. It's a couple of years old and mostly neglected, these days, for his smart phone and more up-to-date desktop, but it can connect to the wifi and that's all he needs, right now. He sets to sorting through new posts that have come in overnight and slips into his rhythm with shocking ease.

Then the first text comes through.

 **ur not at home** it says.

Alibaba. Of course. Yuuki checks the clock and figures his classmates should be boarding their flight about now.

 **Youre creepy** he replies. After a moments thought he adds, **Do you have a tracker on me or smth**

 **no** Her response is prompt. **i could get ur gps p easily but im not**

**Comforting**

**How do you know then**

**i called ur house ur mom said u were on a school trip**

**Wtf you called my house**

**yea im not supposed to use the tracker without permission akira says its invasive**

**Pro tip so is calling my parents**

**What did you even tell her**

**that ur my senpai and i need help w a lit paper**

**Omg**

**Never do that again**

**i wouldnt she sounded pissy**

**is she always like that**

**Only when you disrupt her routine**

**So like dont**

**w/e she thinks ur in hawaii n ur NOT**

**Yeah so**

**so where tf r u??????**

**Im not telling you that**

**rude**

**Dude**

Yuuki means to follow that up but nothing comes to mind. Or, rather, too many things come to mind, a cacophany that lacks any true substance. He can't explain what's wrong with this conversation without reaching so far back into social etiquette and personal privacy he'd be at risk for pulling out a pterodactyl along with his argument. So, he leaves it at that. She can make of it what she will.

Yuuki tosses his phone aside once ten seconds have passed with no flicker of a reply. Then, after a moment's thought, he puts his computer aside, too, and stands to stretch. His zone is already broken so he might as well get something to drink.

Goro's fridge is sparse, which doesn't really surprise him. There's cream, miso, juice, and eggs – a lot of eggs. And unusual number of eggs. Yuuki eyes them warily and goes for the juice.

He takes a glass back over to the couch and settles again, before snagging his phone. Four messages from Alibaba. Joy.

**idk what ur tryin to communicate there but it isnt working**

**oh hey do u play swtor**

**akira said you did mmos and u seem like a swtor guy**

**come help me w these fking rakata**

Yuuki stares, bewildered. Is she just dropping it? Just like that? There's no way. And, more importantly:

**What faction are you**

**empire duh republic is boring af**

Yuuki closes his eyes; opens them again. He looks at his laptop screen, at the infinity of requests to boost and trolls to ban. The Thieves – most of them – won't be back in Japan for a few days. He closes his eyes, again, and breathes.

**Gimme an hour**

He's always worked best under deadlines.

 

Yuuki falls into his rhythm, again, for an hour on the dot, before another text breaks in, and then it's time for a different, more kinetic kind of rhythm. He meets Alibaba at the Imperial Fleet and hears her voice for the first time through shitty laptop speakers. It's hilarious to her that he's a Trooper but once she's stopped laughing and they've torn through the Flashpoint she tells him he's not half bad. Yuuki, who would have stunned if she'd been anything other than an Inquisitor, tells her he's got business on Hoth.

They track down the last Seed buried in the snow, taking down some upper tier mutants he's never managed on his own, and then head for Tatooine. What follows is mostly cursing because, seriously, fuck desert planets. At least Hoth is pretty.

A text comes in from Goro around the time they make it back to the Fleet. Yuuki is only a little surprised to find four hours have passed. Goro is on his way to the police station and wants to know if Yuuki wants him to bring anything back for him. Yuuki considers saying something gross – whipped cream and plastic wrap, or the largest cucumber he can find – but suspects Goro would call his bluff by actually buying it and then he's have to admit defeat or do something stupid. He's still mulling it over when he remembers.

“Hey,” he says to Alibaba, who's mumbling about shitty mods. “You can read my texts, right?”

She replies without hesitating.

“Not all of them. I can get to the messaging app but straight up texting is harder. I'd need access to your phone.” She pauses. “So, if you _want_ – ”

“No thanks,” he says, and checks through his settings. The only contacts who aren't synced to a chat ID are his parents, Daiki, and Goro. Good to know. He takes a moment to change the settings on Rini-chan and Mimi-chan but leaves the rest be.

“Hey,” she says. “Rude.” But she doesn't sound offended or surprised.

“They're none of your business,” he tells her, and has another look at the time. “I've gotta log off. Some of us have actual work to do.”

“Yeah,” she says, and shoots lightning in his direction to no affect. “A _writing assignment_.”

“And a forum to tend.”

She huffs but doesn't argue, and says he better be on tomorrow, too. Yuuki agrees because he has no reason not to and logs off feeling satisfied, but also very tired. He considers actually doing his homework for about three seconds before yawning and closing his laptop.

Seems like a good time for that nap.

 

Yuuki doesn't really get Goro's hair – presuming there's anything there to get, that is, and, given the careful curation of every other aspect of his public image, he's pretty sure there is. It's pretty, which he supposes fits the theme, but it also got in _Yuuki's_ eyes before they'd kissed a dozen times and he in't actually sure how Goro can see, half the time.

 _But,_ he thinks, late in the evening on the second night of his stay, with Goro's hands on his waist, and his own fingers carding through fine silken strands, _it is pretty._

He's propped on one elbow with Goro looking up at him from the pillow, mahogany eyes half-lidded, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. His perpetual self-satisfaction is irritating but Yuuki supposes he's earned it, based on the faulty premises he seems to be working from.

“I keep telling you,” he says, still petting. “Getting me hot and bothered is not actually a major accomplishment.”

Goro 'hm's and moves his hands under Yuuki's shirt. It feels nice, having his bare skin touched. It feels nice to be touched at all, when it doesn't hurt. Yuuki dips down to kiss him and that feels nice, too. Goro licks his lips, after, and looks even smugger.

“I beg to differ,” he says, and lifts one hand to curl around the back of Yuuki's neck – a distinctly possessive gesture, particularly once his thumb settles in the sensitive hollow behind his left ear. “If nothing else, it has the virtue of novelty.” Goro smirks a little wider. “I have always wanted to go where no man has – ”

Yuuki knocks their heads together – gently, but Goro breaks off to laugh.

“You're such a _nerd_ ,” Yuuki tells him. “I don't get how anyone thinks you're cool.”

“Charisma.”

Yuuki snorts, eloquently.

Goro pulls him down and kisses him, grandiloquently. When he lets go, Yuuki's face is hot.

“Ugh,” he says.

“Quite,” agrees Goro.

Yuuki glares and Goro laughs, then begins stroking his knuckles along his back, caress absent-minded as he speaks.

“My point stands. I've got you here, in my bed, and you've let me into your – a number of times. I know how your body feels and how your mouth tastes. No one else has had those honors.” He pauses and hikes an eyebrow, catching Yuuki's gaze. “Presuming, of course, you haven't misled me?”

Yuuki (still breathing, though his been replaced by a blend of exasperation and embarrassment so potent it borders on an out-of-body experience) face plants into his neck, giggling. The touch against his back turns into the press of fingernails, trailing along his spine.

“You're so dumb,” he mumbles into Goro's clavicle, and wraps his own fingers up in that silken hair. “Of course they haven't,” he adds, more clearly. “Because no one else has _tried_.”

“Would they have been successful?” Goro asks.

“Mmph.” Yuuki pushes himself up, probably pulling Goro's hair in the process (not that he ever minds) and looks him in the face, again. Goro looks speculative, eyes back to half-mast, still smug. “Hell if I know,” he says. “Probably?”

“Hmmm.” To Yuuki's exasperation, Goro looks smugger. “Let's explore this hypothesis,” he says.

Yuuki frowns.

“Is this some kind of kink thing?” he asks. “Fantasizing about your – sexual partner getting seduced by other people? I had you pegged as more possessive than that.”

“I am,” Goro says, and shifts the hand at Yuuki's waist to push a thumb into the well-bitten jut of his hipbone. Yuuki holds his breath and fails not to squirm while Goro's smirk morphs into something decidedly predatory. Yuuki has given up hating himself for thinking that's hot.

Goro eases up, after a long moment eyes dark, and says, again, “I am. I'm not interested in contemplating your hypothetical liaisons. I want to know how you would respond to an overture by – hmmm – ” The show he makes of contemplating this is, in fact, a show. Yuuki scowls. “Your friend – ah – Tadami-kun, was it?” He is ignoring Yuuki's glare. “Or Mimi-chan, I suppose.”

“Oh my _god_.”

Yuuki tries to flop on his back but Goro's hands arrest his progress. The ensuing scuffle involves more hair-pulling and ass-grabbing than is strictly dignified and Yuuki winds up wrapped in Goro's arms with warm lips against his throat. He's okay with that.

“I'm glad you approve,” Goro murmurs, and lays a last kiss against his skin before rearranging them both to make himself the big spoon. Yuuki is pretty used to the casual manhandling.

“Now,” Goro says, voice warm, grip firm. “How might you react?”

Yuuki, distracted by the warm body against him and over-awareness of Goro's dick, doesn't immediately understand the question. Then, he laughs, startled, and pulls Goro's arm further around himself.

“I'd say no,” he says. “I have said no.”

Goro nips at his ear.

“Have you, now? What happened to 'no one's ever tried'?”

“She _wasn't_ trying. Not really. It was a joke. She likes talking about my ass.”

Goro holds him tighter and his hips are suddenly pressed tight against him. Yuuki smiles, luxuriates in Goro's desire.

“Does she?” he says. “I suppose I can sympathize with the urge.”

“I would never have guessed.”

Goro snorts, nuzzles behind Yuuki's ear, inhales.

“I have,” he says, into his hair, “something of a reputation for observation and discernment. These talents led me to the inescapable conclusion that a closer acquaintance with it would be a valuable experience to undertake.”

Yuuki laughs, again.

“You _detected_ my fuckability,” he says. “Dumbass.”

“I consider it one of my greatest triumphs. The outcome has been more than satisfactory.”

“Flattering.”

Goro has started to kiss his neck. It's pretty nice. Yuuki reaches back to wind his fingers into his hair, again, and Goro gives a hum of approval, trails kisses down to the crook of his shoulder. His shirt collar keeps him from roaming further but he seems satisfied with the skin available. Yuuki sighs, content, eyes slipping closed.

He supposes it means something that they're doing this – not the sex but the not-sex: the flirting, the rambling conversations, the nonsense; the touches without intent or urgency and the time spent kissing with their clothes on. They dove into this without passing go, went from strangers to sexual obsession with the force of a tsunami and about as much warning. The sea may have settled, now, but they haven't tried to make landfall. They're still out there, floating. Yuuki reaches under the pillow to take Goro's hand, and their fingers tangle like seaweed in the waves.

“So not Mimi-chan,” Goro says, after a while.

“Not Mimi-chan,” Yuuki agrees, then tosses him the answer he's looking for. “I usually remind her I'm jailbait. Sometimes I tell her she looks pretty and she sulks because no one she's actually into is ever that nice to her. I guess I can't call her out for bad taste, anymore,” he adds, thoughtful.

Goro presses his teeth to Yuuki's neck, the suggestion of a bite, too languid to pass for a threat.

“You're insulting me,” he says.

“Well observed.”

“I'm always nice to you.”

“That's a lie.”

“I tell you you look pretty.”

“Mm, true. Mainly with the addition of your dick up my ass.”

Goro snickers and leaves off his neck to settle into the pillow. His breath is warm against Yuuki's nape and Yuuki lets his hand slide free from his hair to hold the one around his waist, instead. Goro parts his fingers for Yuuki's to slot in between.

“You look nice with it in your mouth, too,” he offers.

Yuuki licks his lips.

“Douchebag,” he decides. Goro doesn't dispute this.

“Who else,” he says, “of our mutual acquaintances – your friend Tanaka-kun?”

Yuuki opens his eyes and wrinkles his nose.

“You haven't even met him.”

“The question stands.”

“You mean, what if he hit on me?”

“That is the question, yes.”

“Well, first, he wouldn't. He had kind of a thing for Suzui, once, but I think Kamoshida beat the sexuality out of him.”

“I'll allow it,” Goro says. “But probabilities aren't the point of this exercise.”

“There's a point?” Yuuki sighs, nestles closer. “I dunno. Be weirded out? We've bled on each other. I'd probably think it had something to do with his masterwork and refuse on principle.”

“And if it didn't?”

“I'd still refuse. We've bled on each other.”

“So you said. Is that related?”

“I don't know. Or, yes, I do. I think if I was ever gonna feel anything like that for him, it would have been then. I didn't before and I didn't then and I never really see him without the blood, anymore.” He considers. “Does that make sense?”

Lips brush the back of his neck. The room seems very quiet, all of a sudden.

“Yes. I believe I understand.” Goro hugs Yuuki tighter; Yuuki squeezes his hand.

Then, softly, “You're always beautiful,” Goro says. “You fascinate me.”

Yuuki doesn't know how to respond to that and doubts Goro wants him to. Moments pass with only their breathing filling the air, and then he shifts, tugs Goro's hands, moves onto his back still wrapped up in his arms. Goro kisses him for a while, mouth gentle, grip possessive, while Yuuki makes loose fists in his shirt and thinks his mouth will go numb before they make it to sleep. He wonders how it would feel to suck Goro off, like that.

When their foreheads are resting together, kissing done for the moment, Yuuki settles more comfortably against him and asks, “Thought experiment done? Or do I get to ask what you'd do if Niijima-senpai came onto you, now?”

Goro lets out a startled laugh.

“That's terrifying,” he says.

“Right? I'd be scared to just say no.”

“I wouldn't go that far. But it would certainly be – alarming. Niijima-san can be rather intense. But how did you know I knew her?”

“I didn't, really. Just that you and her sister were both on the Kaneshiro case, and the shutdowns. And the way you talked about them both, before. Seemed reasonable to think you'd have met. Thanks for confirming.”

“Hmm. Clever.” Goro kisses him, again. “I approve. I'm curious as to why you would spurn her advances. I'm not interested in women at all but, from what I've gathered, that's not true for you. Is she not to your taste?”

“I mean, yeah?” Yuuki frowns, considering. He hasn't thought much about his 'taste' in women. Or men, for that matter. There are certain traits he finds more attractive than others but broad classification always seemed like a moot point.

“Yeah?” Goro echoes, after several beats have passed. “Yeah, you're into women? Yeah, she's not to your taste? Yeah, she _is_ to your taste and you would reject her on some other grounds?”

“I mean – ugh.” Yuuki headbutts him gently. “Shut up. Yeah, I like girls. And, yeah, Niijima-senpai is – really gorgeous. But, no, she is not 'to my taste', and I kind of feel like she's about to bust in the window and destroy us both for talking about her like she's a shitty hors d'oeuvres.”

“Distressingly plausible,” Goro agrees.

“Which is kinda why she's not my type, I guess,” Yuuki realizes. “Not because she's badass – I like badass. But she's really – noble, I guess. She's not an asshole. I think if I tried to get anywhere with somebody who wasn't an asshole, it wouldn't go well for me.”

Goro's fingers have slipped under the hem of his shirt, are idly rubbing the small of his back. Yuuki wonders if he knows he's doing it.

“I think I'm offended,” he says.

“No, you're not.” Yuuki takes the moment to tuck himself in closer, again, catch Goro's arm and angle it far enough he gets the idea and starts feeling up Yuuki's ass instead of sulking.

“No, I'm not,” he agrees, and squeezes.

This might or might not lead anywhere sexual. Goro likes his ass, is turned on by it, but there is, he once murmured, gratification to be had in simple touch. Yuuki, fingers back in his hair, agrees.

“What about Kurusu?” Yuuki asks, before Goro gets the chance. “How fast would you have him up against a wall if he offered?”

Goro rolls them to hover over Yuuki, still gripping his ass. He plants a knee between his legs and Yuuki's hands crawl over his chest and down his sides.

“I could ask you the same,” he says, and drops a kiss on Yuuki's mouth.

“Sure,” Yuuki says. “Once you answer me. Gotta observe some kinda procedure in our invasive personal questions.”

“Ridiculous,” Goro replies, and starts kissing him, again.

“Mm,” Yuuki says. “Am not.”

Goro is doing that thing, again, the thing that's not one kiss but a dozen, firm and warm, lingering only seconds before breaking off to resume at a different angle. It makes Yuuki crazy when he does this, each moment's denial long enough to feel the loss before lips are nuzzling into his, again, and Yuuki can't help but respond, can't help but kiss back, begin to melt, and it's in that moment Goro pulls away and the cycle begins again.

Yuuki flushes, feels warmer, a prickle of heat rising from inside, and with each break he can feel his chest ache more deeply. Goro is holding him, still, with an arm under and around him, and Yuuki reaches across himself, gropes for it and manages grab hold. Goro cooperates, murmurs, “Yes?” before bestowing another abortive liplock.

“Please,” Yuuki says, when he's released, heart pounding.

“Please what?” Goro asks, and licks into his mouth, this time. Yuuki moans, delight trailing off too soon into a bereft whimper. Goro doesn't kiss him again, instead brushing soft fingers along his face and saying, “Tell me what you want.” Yuuki shivers, tangles his free hand up in Goro's shirt.

“Kiss me, again,” he says. “And don't stop, this time.”

“Desire is so lovely on you,” Goro tells him, and strokes his cheek, again. His touch is tepid against Yuuki's flaring blush.

“Goro,” Yuuki begins, and then those lips are against his, pressing and molding and coaxing, and Yuuki can't stifle the desperate little moan when Goro sucks slowly on his lower lip. He kisses back, lets go of Goro's hand to catch first his shirt and then his shoulder and then, as Goro adjusts his grip to hold him closer, burying itself in his hair. Yuuki's other hand does the same and he gives himself up to happy sighs and moans and the not-unpleasant sensation of being thoroughly claimed.

Goro breaks away gently, this time, leaving Yuuki light-headed and comfortably aroused. When he blinks Goro into focus, he's still very close, one elbow braced by Yuuki's face, hovering eyes dark, breathing deep and ragged. Yuuki lets his hands drop and smiles.

“Are you gonna tell me, now?” he asks. “Or do you want to fuck me, first?”

Goro looks startled for all of half a second before he laughs.

“As if that's even a question,” he says, and grabs Yuuki's ass, again. Yuuki laughs, too, and shoves him, and they end up much as they were, Goro on his back, Yuuki tucked up close. By now they hold each other without thinking about it.

“I would decline,” Goro tells him, at length. Yuuki's hand is loose on his sternum.

“Would you,” he says. It's not a question.

“I would.” Goro cards his fingers through his hair. “That's not to say Kurusu-kun doesn't have – ah – attractive qualities – ” he ignores Yuuki's scoff. “I'm just not sure I find the idea of being intimate with him appealing.”

“Seriously.” Yuuki doesn't believe him and doesn't try to hide it.

“Seriously.” Goro's fingers rake his hair, again. “It's not a matter of desirability,” he adds. “Our interactions tend to be strained. Deeper involvement would be – a risk. Not the worthwhile kind.”

“And I'm not a risk?” Yuuki asks. It's only because Goro is holding him so close and tight he hears him swallow hard before responding.

“I can afford you,” Goro tells him.

Yuuki smiles into his shirt.

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” he says, instead of calling him on the lie.

Goro scratches idly at his scalp and Yuuki squirms, hair standing up on his nape and arms and spine.

“I really don't know.”

Yuuki tilts his face towards Goro's, lays a hand against his cheek. Goro stops petting him to intertwine their fingers and the next kiss lingers. Yuuki is only half aware of the soft sounds he makes during but, when he opens his eyes, sees Goro licking his lips with pupils blown huge, he is suddenly very aware of his own ragged breathing.

“And you?” Goro says, voice low, caressing Yuuki's still-parted lips. He loosens his hold on his hand and his touch trails along wrist and forearm, bicep and shoulder. “Suppose Kurusu-kun told you that he was – what was your term – an ass man?”

Yuuki can't help it – he laughs.

“You should already know this one,” he says.

One of Goro's eyebrows arches.

“Should I, now?”

“Mmhm.” Yuuki can't get closer without pulling away to strip; he settles for throwing a leg across Goro's thighs, hooking it in place at the knee. “You said it,” he says, not looking away from his eyes. “He wants to _protect_ me.”

Yuuki sees a muscle twitch in Goro's jaw, feels his hand tighten on his shoulder, and then he's being half-pulled, half-gathered, further into his arms. He tangles their legs, catches Goro's face between his hands as that iron grip closes down on him, again.

“And you,” Goro says, eyes burning black into him, “don't need protecting.”

Yuuki touches their foreheads together.

“No,” he says. “I don't.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting into time skips, starting next chapter.


	22. Chapter 22

** October 26th **

On the day of the panel – what kind of panel only has one guest? – Yuuki stays out of sight. Goro has always been weird and Yuuki's never trusted him, per se, (not with anything important) but his motives, now, seem less clear than they've ever been. What does he even want with Shujin, with Yuuki, with the Thieves? Why is he here now, and how are Yuuki's peers stupid enough to believe a single word he's saying?

Yuuki wrinkles his nose as Goro and Niijima-senpai pick at one another, frowns harder, fingers digging into his own arms as Goro looses cryptic clues to float over the audience, smiles his pleasant smile, demures, smiles brighter. Yuuki's never found him less attractive than he does in this moment.

( _Gotta keep perspective_ , he thinks, taunting himself. _Gotta remember what's really important._ )

He's not even remotely surprised by the phone call that cuts Goro off. Exasperated, but not surprised.

_Right down to the wire_ , he thinks, and then, because why the fuck now, it's not like anything he says or does matters, he sends Goro a text.

**Show off**

It's then he catches sight of Takamaki-san, going up the stairs with Okumura-senpai and another girl, one with long red hair. He's seen Kurusu with her at the diner, and dodged them. Today, he follows, loiters down the hall from the room they slip into. A minute or two later, he receives a text from Goro.

**;)**

Unbelievable.

**Dont you have important police business to attend to**

Way too quickly for someone who is definitely in the act of blackmailing a bunch of internationally famous vigilantes, Goro sends him another winky face.

Yuuki replies, **Loser** and Goro doesn't respond again.

Yuuki's up in that place, again – the place where he's angry but also powerless, looking down on himself and the world and the relative nonexistence of the former as compared to the latter. Zero, nothing, nonentity, nonexistence, void. He wants the planet to explode, sometimes, into pieces as meaningless as he is.

Amidst pleasant daydreams of supernovas, Goro steps out of the room Takamaki-san and the rest entered, closing the door after him. He catches sight of Yuuki and approaches, betraying no surprise. He's put away his pleasant smile, is half-smirking, instead, eyelids lowered.

“Yuuki,” he says, voice low. “I wondered where you were. You can be so elusive.”

“Unremarkable,” Yuuki corrects, slouching against the wall with his hands in his pockets, one loosely curled around his phone. “You're not used to seeing me in a crowd,” he says, “so you haven't noticed how much I blend in.”

“Is that what it is?” Goro asks, one hand on his hip. He looks casual, amused, but he's placed himself at an angle, a step beyond Yuuki, with a clear view back towards the door. Yuuki wonders if he thinks he's being subtle, wonders what Goro would do if he kissed him, right now. He wonders what he would do if Goro kissed back.

Goro must see the thought forming – in the size of his pupils or the tint of his cheeks – because he smiles wider, sharper.

“I dare you,” he murmurs.

Yuuki's lips twitch, begin to curl, and he really is about to go for it when the door opens and the Thieves come spilling out. All but Kurusu.

Yuuki sees startled blinks and varying degrees of double take, for the most part – all but Sakamoto, whose brows draw in tight, and the girl with red hair, who hunches grimly and attaches herself to Niijima-senpai's elbow. Niijima looks at her, startled but not surprised, then ahead again, and straight into Yuuki's eyes. Yuuki wishes he'd been a little faster, they'd been a little slower; what would Goro have done, what would he have done, what would they have done? Would it have mattered at all?

“Mishima-kun!” Takamaki speaks first. “What brings you up here? Everything okay?” Her voice is bright, eager, and out-stretched hand. She wants to help him, still. That's so stupid.

“I had a hunch,” he says, squeezes his phone in his pocket, and keeps going, not even sure if he's lying. “Thought I'd try and catch Goro before he runs off to spread self-righteousness – sorry, I mean justice – ”

He stops at Goro's gasp, mock-scandalized and accompanied by a hand delicately splayed against his chest.

“Straight to the heart,” Goro says. “How could you?”

Yuuki looks at him. “Seriously?”

Goro drops the bulk of his affectation – he can never drop it all – and replies, “You're being very rude.”

“That's not even the rudest thing I've said to you _today_.”

“Hm, arguable. I think – ”

“Akechi-kun.” It's Niijima, this time. Yuuki's been mostly ignoring the Thieves down the hall, tracking movement in his peripheral vision but caring little for specifics.

“Hm?” Goro looks towards her but, like Yuuki, holds himself otherwise still, their bodies still oriented towards one another. Yuuki supposes that's calculated and wonders what Goro gets out of it. What he gets out of it.

“I hadn't realized you were acquainted with Mishima-kun,” Niijima continues. Her eyes are so vivid that 'piercing' is their default setting but Yuuki is familiar enough with her interrogation face to recognize it now.

“Oh,” Goro says, and looks at Yuuki. He smiles, the smug one that means he thinks he's won. Yuuki smiles back; he associates that smile mostly with drawn-out kisses and good food, so it's pretty much automatic. “Yuuki and I met at Le Blanc several months ago. I stopped in while Kurusu-kun was out.”

“And I was in,” Yuuki confirms. “Not much of a consolation prize.”

“Your self-deprecation might possibly be the least charming thing about you,” Goro replies, like he's talking about which classes Yuuki's most likely to fail. “And there is some extremely stiff competition for the title.”

“Who's being rude, now?”

“Both of us, I think.”

“Hm, fair.”

Yuuki glances over, again. Okumura-senpai and the girl with red hair (who must be Alibaba, for all it matters, now) have slipped away, along with the tall guy Yuuki knows is Kitagawa. Also in the last minute or so, Kurusu has appeared, silent as the cat peeking over his shoulder. Niijima and Sakamoto are both looking to him, now; only Takamaki's still watching Yuuki.

_Okay, then_ , he thinks, as he meets her eyes. _Go ahead and watch._

He pushes himself off the wall, brings himself closer to Goro, close enough he has to look up for their eyes to meet. Goro is still smiling. Yuuki loosens his hold on his cell phone and asks, softly, “Heading out?”

Goro inclines his head, eyes strangely dark in a hall this bright.

“Yes,” he says. “Duty calls.”

“Doesn't it always?” Yuuki lets his phone drop loose in his pocket, holds out his open hand between them, palm up. “Text me?”

“Don't I always?” Goro takes his hand, turns it so their fingers interlace, squeezes. Yuuki lets it stand for an moment, holding Goro's gaze, relishing the warmth of him through the gloves that are his second skin. He squeezes back and, as one, they let go and Goro steps away, while Yuuki leans into the wall, again. He curls one hand up loose at his side, not wanting to hold his phone again, just yet.

“Later,” he says.

Goro nods, a pleasant smile on his face. “Bye, Yuuki,” he says, and takes the stairs down.

Sakamoto is, unsurprisingly, the first to speak once his footsteps fade.

“What. The. Eff?”

Yuuki sees Kurusu make eye contact with Niijima and nod once. Niijima nods back and puts her hand on Sakamoto's shoulder. Her grip looks solid and Sakamoto is trying to wince and glare at the same time.

“What?” he snaps.

“I have to announce that the panel's ended,” she says. “You're coming, too.”

“Oh, come on, Makoto,” Sakamoto snaps back. “You know as well as I do – ”

“ – that you're too wound up to participate in any meaningful discussion, right now?” Her eyes are punching holes in Sakamoto's soul. “Yes,” she says. “I do know that. Better than you do. That's why you _are_ coming with me.”

Sakamoto opens his mouth.

Niijima adds, “Right _now_ ,” and whatever he might have in mind tumbles out as, “yes, ma'am,” and, as she heads down the stairs, he hurries behind.

That leaves Takamaki, Kurusu – and the cat, openly resting his chin and forepaws on Kurusu's shoulder, and watching Yuuki with eyes just as solemn. Yuuki points to it.

“So, it that a daemon or a familiar or a Horcrux or what?”

The cat hisses, while Kurusu merely blinks twice, a little faster than usual. Then he turns his head to look at the cat, who promptly yowls in his face. Takamaki snorts, a singularly inelegant sound, then laughs when the cat starts vocalizing at her.

“Oh, come on,” she says. “Don't be like that.” Then she speak to Yuuki, still smiling. “I guess you haven't been able to meet him properly. That sucks.”

“Then that sounds like Japanese to you?” Yuuki asks. “I had wondered.”

Kurusu is frowning, one hand lifted as if to touch the cat's flank, not quite making contact.

“Basically,” Takamaki says, then tells Kurusu 'come on' as she moves closer to Yuuki – a conversational distance, rather than projecting down the hall.

“Mishima-kun, this is Morgana,” she says, and gestures between the two of them. “Morgana, this is Mishima Yuuki-kun. He created the – ah – the site.”

“Doesn't matter,” Yuuki says, then corrects himself. “Doesn't matter if you say it, I mean. I've got not reputation to ruin and the police already know.”

Kurusu sucks in a breath as Takamaki lets out a sharp 'oh!' Morgana hisses. Perhaps because he's spent so much time directing remarks to Ami-chan, Yuuki addresses the cat, next.

“It's not that surprising. The site is registered to me and of course they were going to check. Nobody every actually came and questioned me but somebody spoke to my mom.” He permits himself a smile as bitter as he feels. “She assured them that I'm far too delicate to risk re traumatizing by actually talking to me.”

“Seriously?” says Takamaki.

Yuuki shrugs. “S'what Goro told me. It lines up with what's happened and it definitely sounds like something my mom would say. She's got herself half-convinced I'm an invalid. Cops are no problem.”

Kurusu and Takamaki look first at each other, then at Morgana, who yowls irritably then meows a few times. Before the other humans can say anything, Yuuki puts in, “A translation would be nice.”

“He asked why she lets you hand around Shinjuku,” Takamaki says, “if she thinks you're so delicate.”

Yuuki doesn't know how to answer that so he doesn't.

Kususu says, “He also asked why we were looking at him and that he doesn't know anything about parents.”

“There's not that much to know,” Yuuki says, as Takamaki covers her face with her hands. “Parents are adults, mostly, and adults mostly suck. So parents mostly suck. That's all there is.”

There's a pause – extended, wary.

Then, Kurusu says, “We're getting off track.”

“Oh, right!” Takamaki nods. “Though I'm not sure we were ever on track to begin with.”

Yuuki is beginning to slip away from this, losing interest in the conversation, even as one of the eternal threads of anxiety interlacing across his chest begins to draw taut, as if pulled from each end. He wonders if those two sensations, the pull and the slip, are related. Takamaki is looking at him, earnest, while Kurusu is, as ever, impassive.

“Mishima-kun,” she says. “We know that you don't – appreciate us prying.”

“But you're going to,” he says, and squeezes his phone in his pocket. “I figured.”

“We just want you to be careful,” she says. “Akechi-kun is – we don't exactly know, but – ”

“Dangerous,” Kurusu puts in. “He's definitely dangerous.”

Kurusu's expression is somehow blanker than before. He looks like a carving of a corpse.

Yuuki says, “Yeah, I know. But he could've killed me in my sleep a dozen times, by now, and I'm still breathing, so. . .” He trails off, shrugs, thinks that he's now obliderated any plausible deniability he had left re: fucking Goro. The hand thing was intimate but still technically chaste.

He decides he doesn't care and regrets not making out with him before he left. When else is Yuuki going to get a chance to get scolded for PDA at school?

He snaps out of this train of thought and adds, softly, “And, you know. I met him at Le Blanc.”

The point lands and Kurusu averts his eyes. Yuuki stares at a square foot of wall over Takamaki's shoulder.

“I'm not important enough to hurt,” he says, to one, two, or all of them. “You're too important to get hurt. So worry about yourselves. I'll be fine.”

Takamaki opens her mouth, an angry flush to her cheeks. Kurusu lays a hand on her shoulder and she closes it, again, but glares hard at him before turning back to Yuuki. Yuuki wonders if Kurusu believes his own bullshit about not being in charge when they're off the clock. (Are they off the clock? Is this a heart-changing? It's not a very good one.)

“You are important, Yuuki,” he says.

Given-naming, again. Right.

“I'm not gonna argue with you,” Yuuki replies. He rolls his shoulders, feels exhaustion roll over him in a wave. “In fact, I'm just gonna go home.”

“You're not staying for the party?” Takamaki asks.

“Nah,” says Yuuki. “Not my scene.” He forces his death grip on his phone to uncurl and flexes his fingers a few times, loosening them and encouraging the warm rush of blood flow. “Have fun, though.”

They're still standing there, looking at him like they expect something from him. He decides, _fuck it_ , and turns to go, tossing out a 'later' as he goes. Morgana vocalizes, a series of rapid, distinct cries more clearly equating human speech than any Yuuki's yet heard. Neither Kurusu nor Takamaki respond before Yuuki too far away to hear anymore.

 

Somewhere around his third circuit of Akihabara, Yuuki's brain manages to fire right for the first time since he told Kurusu's cat his thoughts on the nature of parenthood. There's a thick layer of bitterness over that exchange and he can't tell if it's aimed at Kurusu, the cat, his parents, or himself.

All of the above, probably.

In the here and now, Yuuki stops to stare at a bank of capsule machines, eyes roving without taking anything in.

He's out of deniability. He's been running low, bits and pieces chipping away each day since he met Goro. He's been reckless and Kurusu has, too. He's said all the things he was supposed to leave unspoken and Kurusu has confirmed all of them and Yuuki can't pretend, anymore, that he's not sure they're _really_ the Phantom Thieves, can't pretend he doesn't know Goro as anything but a particularly annoying talking head. Then he properly wonders, for the first time, what Goro said to them in that classroom.

He's got something over them, clearly. It can't be much, or they'd have been arrested already. (All but the cat, Yuuki guesses. He doesn't think Japanese criminal statutes apply to cats.) What _could_ he have over them, given everything Yuuki knows and guesses paints them as basically magic?

Yuuki wonders, really wonders, but he knows he'll never know. There are, he thinks, a lot of things he's never going to know.

He's gonna keep sleeping with Goro, though. That's one thing he does know. He'd figured, before today, that if there were ever some definitive clash, Goro would stop sleeping with him but that doesn't seem to be where this is going. (At least, not if his most recent text is to be believed.) So it's up to Yuuki to stop it, if it's going to stop, end whatever they're doing in the place where his own divided loyalties are visible for all to see.

That is, he thinks, how the script goes. He's supposed to find his courage, or his principles, or his capacity for self-sacrifice, supposed to redeem himself for this selfish betrayal by refusing to let it go on. (He thinks that's the script. He never thought he'd need one for sleeping with the enemy.)

But, no matter what Kurusu and Takamaki tell him, Yuuki knows better. Nothing he does actually matters, in the grand scheme of things. Sex with Yuuki isn't going to give Goro any kind of advantage over them, any more than sex with Goro has lessened Yuuki's commitment to the Phan Site. Sex is sex and Yuuki, to the surprise of no one (except, sometimes, himself) likes sex. He likes sex with Goro. There aren't a whole lot of things he just _likes_ anymore and he's not going to give this one up.

_Sorry, Alibaba,_ he thinks, and fishes his phone from his pocket.

**i dont want you to get hurt** her first text reads. In the second, **you will if you don't stop**

He locks his phone, looks up at the sky and breathes deep. When he opens it, again, her contact name has changed.

**Im not going to stop** , he writes.

**i know** , replies Futaba, under her own name. **im so pissed at you rn**

**You and sakamoto can form a club**

**be careful**

He watches the thread for a few seconds. Nothing else comes through. On a hunch, he taps her name and finds her profile complete, from family name to email address. Then, he goes into his contacts and checks a few. Kurusu, Sakamoto, Takamaki – all complete, and she's added Kitagawa, Niijima, Okumura, as well. Then he sees a name he can't place until he taps through and reads the AKA and Business.

Sakura Sojiro. He's programmed as an emergency contact, so his name and number will be available without unlocking the phone. Yuuki wonders if anyone's thought to tell him that.

He texts Futaba, again.

**Thanks**

He starts walking, again, back towards the station, glancing up now and again as he goes. The other text he needs to respond to is from Goro and, once he makes it to the train, he opens it up, shakes his head at it.

Goro understands if Yuuki's still busy with the festival, but wonders if he might be free this evening.

**As delightful as it was to see you, today,** it goes on in the next message, **we haven't spent much time together this week.** A smile tugs at Yuuki's lips.

**That is a problem** , he replies. **Want me to stop by**

**Only if it's not any trouble,** Goro shoots back, prompt and polite.

**~20 minutes** Yuuki tells him, and puts his phone away, again.


	23. Chapter 23

It was an error in judgment not to kiss Goro at school. Yuuki knows that, now. There's no way to remedy it, not without stalking Goro to his school or luring him back to Shujin, somehow, but Yuuki does his best to make up for it in the moment, by taking his earliest chance to push himself into Goro's lap and arms and then doing absolutely nothing to dissuade him from sucking bruises into his neck, up high where they can't be missed. Goro (for maybe the same reason and maybe a different reason entirely) is on the same page, reckless, marking up Yuuki's skin all rough and eager, feeling him up through his clothes.

The sex they end up having is messy, graceless, shirts shoved up and pants yanked down, bare dicks grinding while hands tangle and snag in each other's clothing. Goro grabs Yuuki's ass and doesn't let go so Yuuki twists his fingers into Goro's hair and pulls, hears the next moan take the shape of his own name.

They both come pretty fast and Yuuki stays the night.

In the morning, his neck and shoulders look like an impressionist's snowscape, bruises like shadows against his paleness. He waits for regret to set in as he washes up, as he and Goro say (kiss) goodbye, as they part for their separate trains. There's nothing, then, nothing on the walk or the ride in. Nothing on the street outside, or when he passes through the gates. It's not until he's up the stairs and approaching his classroom he feels anything other than the contentment that follows him every time they spend the night together.

It's then, when he's five steps away, Sakamoto steps out of the door Yuuki was aiming for. They both stop and their eyes meet for a handful of seconds, Sakamoto's brows drawing in while Yuuki waits. He sees the moment Sakamoto registers the marks an instant before every other student in the hall, and potentially on the floor, hears about it.

“The _eff_ , man?” he says, way too loud. “What's _wrong_ with you?”

“I had no idea your sensibilities were so delicate,” Yuuki replies.

“My sensa – I ain't delicate!”

“Then maybe stop flipping out over a couple of hickies.”

“That is not – ” Sakamoto actually stops himself, cuts his own sentence off like it was Niijima-senpai herself wielding the knife of discretion. Then, he huffs. “Screw you, man,” he says, instead.

Yuuki flicks his eyes up, then down again.

“Yeah, that position is filled,” he says. “Better luck next time.”

Sakamoto bares his teeth, shifts like he's about to step forward, then stops himself, again.

“Can I get in my classroom, now?” Yuuki asks.

Teeth still gritted, Sakamoto storms off and Yuuki continues on his way. Still no regret, he thinks, and brushes his fingers over the tender spot at the hinge of his jaw. He is feeling something, though – something he is far more used to seeing than experiencing.

A smile curls over his lips, hand moving to shield it from sight. Smug feels pretty good, from this side.

 

The Shujin rumor mill has been more or less kind to Yuuki, since the spectacle of Kamoshida faded from prominence. By this he means that it has been a conduit for the Phan Site, spreading word of its existence and bringing scraps of information back to him in turn. It has also been tactful enough to ignore him, for the most part, and to maintain a polite fiction that the Site sprang forth from an unknown third party with no connection to Shujin or Kamoshida.

(No Shujin student will be caught dead entertaining the notion one of them might be behind it. The idea is too absurd to even be laughable.)

The identity of Student M is similarly mysterious and the student body seemed to read Ohya-san's article and decide en masse that finding out who it was would be an exercise in futility and not worth their time.

(There were a lot of over loud discussions of how horrible Kamoshida was, and how the kids he hurt deserved justice, over the week after it was published. They all seemed to take place within earshot of Yuuki. As shows of support went, it was pretty sweet, as well as the most he had the energy to deal with.)

In ignoring Yuuki, it has considerately ignored all his interactions with other students, including all the Thieves. It's pretty impressive, given everything Kurusu does is high end gossip fuel and the difficulty the students have, even now, resisting the impulse to obsess over Takamaki.

(The impulse to talk about beautiful things – Goro would say he's familiar with that one. Goro is full of shit.)

All that in mind, Yuuki supposes ignoring the hickies would be too much to ask. Especially after Sakamoto decided to be a huge weirdo over them.

Daiki joins him in the library at lunch. It's still a rare occurrence; he's risking an identifying characteristic.

“I hear you're fucking Takeishi,” he says, buried in a different notebook. It's not hardcover, so it can't be his epic.

Yuuki doesn't look up from his phone. So many trolls.

“I don't even know who that is,” he says.

“Track team,” says Daiki.

“That doesn't – ugh.” Yuuki blocks an IP address. “I'm not.”

“Shocking.”

“What's the logic on that one?”

“Eh, he and Sakamoto have some kind of beef.”

“Sakamoto has a beef with everyone.”

“I'm aware of that. Natsuki is still drawing up a list of candidates. Takeishi is the top contender, for now.”

Natsuki is the girl who does the school paper. Yuuki forgot her and Daiki talked.

“Bleh,” he says. “Hey, you think if I introduce her to Ohya-san it'll distract her enough to drop it?”

“I think that Natsuki will decide you're fucking Ohya, write a detailed and convincing expose to get her fired, and then take her job.”

“Shit, you're right.”

Daiki salutes without looking up. Then, he says, “'Fucking someone I really shouldn't be.' That's what you said, I believe?”

Yuuki considers. “Sounds like something I'd say.”

“On the train. Before we demured from the Hawaii trip.”

Yuuki recalls, then, that claustrophobic train ride, shoved up against Daiki in a corner, privacy assured once they were packed too close to do anything but whisper.

“Got it,” he says.

“Same person?”

Yuuki can't help the smirk, the acid rising in his voice. Or maybe he just doesn't want to. “My one and only.”

“Are they still a bad decision?”

“Every single time,” Yuuki says, then sighs. He locks his phone, looks over at Daiki for the first time since he sat down. “It doesn't matter, though.”

“No?” He's not agreeing or disagreeing; he's offering, inviting Yuuki to tell him more. Yuuki accepts the invitation.

“It won't change anything,” he says. “Sakamoto's a dumbass and hasn't realized it but that doesn't matter, either. Things'll happen like they happen no matter who I go to bed with.”

“You don't think that whatever relationship you have with this person might impact their decisions?”

Yuuki shakes his head. “He knows what he's gonna do.” The pronouns drop like pebbles into wavering waters, no sign of their passage. “He knew that years ago. If there were any chance I could change that – ” He shakes his head again, harder. “Nobody is changing their plans for me. It's not that kind – it's not really a relationship.”

“I said decisions,” Daiki tells him, and looks up from his notebook, at last, meeting Yuuki's eyes. “Plans aren't the same thing at all.”

Yuuki watches him, waits.

“He decided to chew on your neck, last night,” Daiki continues, eventually. “I don't know about plans but if you had never ended up in bed with him he'd have been doing something else.”

Yuuki considers this, for maybe a little too long.

“Huh,” he says and the bridge of Daiki's nose wrinkles.

“You are not actually disconnected from the causal chain,” he says, “and neither are any of the things you do. When you and – this person have sex, it has an impact on the world around you, to wit, while you are doing that, neither of you are doing anything else.”

Yuuki is staring at the bookshelf beyond Daiki's shoulder, eyes creeping up, up, up, until they catch on a cobweb, faint and gray, tucked away, hidden in one corner. What Tanaka is saying to him is a tautology, necessarily true. It strikes him strangely, like its edges don't align like they should, like the answer to one plus one is still missing something.

“Huh,” he says, again.

Daiki frowns down at his hands.

“If I punch you,” he says, “what sort of rumor do you suppose will come out of it?”

“I'm fucking your sister.”

“Would Sakamoto care about that?”

“He would if I had promised myself to him.”

Daiki's laughter has always been like this, a silent convulsion that simmers away into shaking shoulders, hands half-raised to hide behind. His bared teeth look more aggressive than amused, like he's angry to be laughing at all, and his eyes crinkle into crescents, pinched and painful. (Yuuki appreciates it on the grounds it's so unquestionably real. No one would make that face on purpose.)

“Or if she had,” Daiki suggests, once he's taken a breath, “and you ruined her.”

“Oh, hey,” says Yuuki. “Maybe we both did.”

Daiki drops his head, convulses again.

“Asshole,” he says. “Where would you – ah – we'll call him your gentleman caller, for now.”

“We will not.”

“Where would your gentleman have been if he hadn't come calling?”

Yuuki doesn't bother to correct him, to say that he's the one that had gone calling, as it were. He does hesitate, though. Not because he doesn't know what kinds of things Goro does when he's not hanging around Yuuki, but because he's having trouble with the thought of someone making an informed choice to hang around him rather than – literally anything else. Even with the sex and the weird kinky shit factored in, there's something weird about it. He closes his eyes.

“Something smug, probably,” he says and Daiki elbows him. Yuuki smiles, adds, “That's all he ever does.”

Ten seconds later, long enough for Yuuki to open his eyes and see it happen, Daiki leans in close to his ear. He whispers a name.

“First try,” Yuuki replies. “You got it. Not bad.”

Daiki settles back in his chair, crosses his arms, frowns at him.

“You really are bad at decisions,” he says.

“The worst,” agrees Yuuki.

Daiki regards the hickies on his neck openly, now, crosses one leg over the other. The pose is weirdly reminiscent of Goro and Yuuki finds himself smirking. Bad habits.

“What?” he says.

Daiki breaths in deep, lets it out slow. He's using the four count they did in first year, before they both stopped having the urge to cry.

“You really are reckless,” he says, at length. “I hope you know that.”

Yuuki is surprised to realize he can see where Daiki is coming from. Doesn't mean he agrees, though.

“I've got nothing to lose,” he says and Daiki takes another breath.

“There's no way I can convince you otherwise,” he says. It's not a question, not even a condemnation, so Yuuki doesn't respond. Daiki goes on. “I can get Natsuki digging into all Sakamoto's grudges, if you want. It'll distract her.”

“Can she publish that stuff?”

“I doubt it. Not unless she finds something legitimately newsworthy, which is unlikely. Being a bit of a dick to people who are being a dick to you isn't actually newsworthy and that's what most of his conflict amounts to. Other than the track team,” he adds.

“She probably _should_ write about that.”

“Hard agree, though I'd like to point out that you are allegedly fucking – ”

“I do not even know which one that is.”

The warning bell chimes, then, pushing them both back to their feet and back towards the classroom, conversation left in a perfect circle in their wake.

 

Yuuki heads to Cascade after school. It's not a conscious decision; he just packs up and starts walking and his feel take him through the turnstyles and train platforms and afternoon crush until he's there, in the foyer, bypassing the restaurant for the stairs down to the bar. Not many patrons, at this time of day, so the first person he sees is Keisuke.

Yuuki freezes, which is stupid. He thinks of leaving, which is stupider. Keisuke's met his eyes, is holding his eyes even now, and running would only make things weirder.

He looks away, focuses instead on the seat near the end of the bar, with the convenient outlets where he and Goro sat on the night – on that night. Yuuki's face feels strangely warm, even as a chill breaks along his hairline. Something pops in his left thumb and he slows his sluggish steps further as he bends each finger, a careful untangling of unhappy joints from the strap of his bag.

He settles onto a stool, flexing both hands, watching them move. A tray settles in front of him.

Yuuki looks it over, notes a large teapot, two cups, and a dish of edamame. Nothing that explains what it's doing there. When he lifts his gaze, the only bartender in sight is halfway down the bar, a woman dressed in scrupulously tidy Western-style mensware, complete with waistcoat and bowtie. Her hair is a vivid red, flopping ungently over one eye. Yuuki blinks.

“I wondered when he'd be seeing you,” Keisuke says, sliding onto the stool at Yuuki's left. He's shed his dress shirt, leaving a t-shirt of muted gray-green. Yuuki blinks again, this time at him.

“Um,” he says, while Keisuke pours tea. “Hello?”

“Hello, Yuuki,” he replies, voice pleasant. Yuuki thinks he should distrust it.

“Did you – need something?”

Keisuke sets one cup in front of each of them and shakes his head. Yuuki's feels fuzzy, in a way he's familiar with. He frowns.

“Not particularly,” Keisuke says. “Did you?”

Yuuki suspects a trick question.

“I was gonna order tea,” he tries.

“Your lucky day, then.” Keisuke nods towards the pot. “We were starting to wonder.” Yuuki curls his hands around his cup, stares down into, doesn't speak; after a moment, Keisuke huffs and goes on. “You'd been staring silently at your hands for over seven minutes by the time I came over here.”

Yuuki sips some tea, puts the cup down again.

“Huh,” he says.

“Guessing you didn't know that?”

Yuuki shrugs. “I space out, sometimes. It happens.”

“And how much time do you usually lose, spacing out?”

He's never tried to quantify it. “Uh, fifteen minutes, maybe? Never more than an hour.” He thinks about class changes he didn't notice until chalk was being thrown at him by a different teacher than he remembered, about trains he missed when he'd gotten to the platform early. “Almost never.” It occurs to him that he's never mentioned this phenomenon to anyone and keeps his eyes on his tea, not caring to see how it's been received.

“That's what I thought.” Keisuke's voice is unhappy but not insincere.

Yuuki closes his eyes. “Did you?” It comes out more question than rhetoric, whatever he intends.

“You space out a _lot_ , Yuuki-chan.”

Yuuki twitches, startled more by the honorific than he had been by his bare name. But it's what Mimi-chan and the others have been calling him in the chatroom, though never to his face, so he thinks it's okay.

“You're spacing out, again,” Keisuke tells him.

“Kinda,” he says. “Not really. I was just thinking that in April I was the only person who remembered I had a given name.” He's still not looking at him but catches some motion in his peripheral vision; a nod, perhaps.

“I was that kid,” Keisuke says. “Think a lot of us were.” He says 'us' like it means something specific and goes on before Yuuki can wonder about it. “I wanted to say thank you.”

Yuuki's eyes narrow.

“For what?” That motion, again, not quite seen, beside him.

“For getting help,” Keisuke says. “I've been talking with the others and – we owe you. I owe you.”

Yuuki shifts in his seat, brow furrowing.

“I didn't do anything,” he says.

“Bullshit.”

Yuuki shifts, again, feels the shame prickling at his skin, ready to seep out through his pores.

“I _didn't_ ,” he repeats. “I don't – I can't – Nothing I do is – ” His options scroll past like options on a screen. Real, important, noteworthy; worth hearing about, worth thinking about, worth caring about. He knows how those will sound and shakes them off, tries again. “I didn't change anything, Keisuke. I can't.” He empties his cup and Keisuke refills it.

“You're wrong about that, Yuuki-chan,” he says, voice low, soft. “I can't prove it, not in a way that will matter to you, but things would be worse without you around.”

“You're wrong,” Yuuki replies.

Keisuke doesn't argue any further. He sits at Yuuki's side, quiet, as they finish off the tea together, then slips away, again. In less time than it seems like it should take, he's back behind the bar, waistcoat buttons, tie neatly in place. He walks over to remove the tray and this time Yuuki can't help meeting his eyes.

“Whether you think so or not,” Keisuke says, “I owe you. So let me know. Okay?”

Yuuki nods without thinking about it. He mostly wants him to go away, now. After another few seconds, he does, and Yuuki hugs his bag to his chest until he finds a single-occupant bathroom where he can lock himself away and, for no reason at all, cry until he's got nothing left.

 

He goes to Goro's apartment. It's not a decision, not one he can remember making, but it's where he ends up and he's still got the key from when he crashed here while the class was in Hawaii. Goro isn't there – unsurprising – so he leaves his stuff at the door to telegraph his presence and goes to take a shower.

It seems like a reasonable thing to do; showers are nice; personal hygiene is important.

He turns on the water, manipulates the dial the way Goro showed him once before, and strips as it heats up, lets his clothes fall to an inelegant heap at his feet. The cool bathroom air hardens his nipples, stands the fine hairs on his arms on end, and he grimaces, feels disgusted with himself, with his own physicality. He presses one hand to his sternum, up high, feels bone hard beneath fragile skin. When he moves one finger, it lands in the dip at the center of his collar bones, where Goro likes to lick. He could cut off his own air, if he pressed down.

He scrapes his other hand down over his ribs, nose wrinkling, then his squeezes his own hip. It's weird, uneven, too skinny and too squishy, sharp edges and stretch marks. He claws at himself, irritated, then looks towards the shower. It's started steaming, now.

_This is stupid,_ he thinks, and remembers why he tries to ignore himself. (At least the part of himself that manifests. He'd like to tear it all apart but there's only so much available to grasp.) It's harder, now. Or maybe just here.

He cleans himself with Goro's utilitarian bar soap and shampoo, going slow around his genitals. He smiles when he finds bruises he'd forgotten about on the softest parts of his inner thighs. The heat of the shower has sunk into him and the steam is heavy, weighing him down, blurring his vision. He leans back into the wall, lets the spray rinse between his legs. His hand lingers, shifts his flaccid penis, touching here and there, then further back. Tears prickle his closed eyes and he smiles wider.

So few things are just _nice_ , these days.

Yuuki turns around to wash, slips soapy fingers into himself, and sighs into his other arm, braced on the wall with his cheek pressed into it. The angle is awkward and his fingers can't go very deep but that's okay. It's comforting, somehow, to touch himself like this, though it's scarcely arousing and his dick doesn't harden. He feels better for it, anyway, and gets out of the shower a little more human than void.

_There are advantages._

The thought drifts past, connected with ruminations from before he climbed under the spray. He lets it go. _No, thank you._

Yuuki cracks open the door, once he's dried off a bit, and takes a moment to look and listen. He can't see much from here, just the bedroom across the hall, low light spilling in from the living area. It's the same low light as before and all is quiet, so he wraps a towel around himself – more in to guard against the chill than with any regard to modesty – and crosses over to the bedroom.

The bedside lamp has been left on and Yuuki finds a pair of his own boxers folded in quarters on the dresser, obvious as the only visible clothes in the room. (Goro is maybe the only teenager alive who keeps his closet door so firmly shut and his clothing so thoroughly packed away. He's not hiding anything, Yuuki knows, at least not amidst his wardrobe. He's just weird about his stuff. He hadn't minded Yuuki's.) He gets fully dry – or as dry as he's going to get – and slips into them, then takes a shirt from the appropriate dresser drawer and leaves the bedroom.

This should be weird, he thinks, as he hangs the towel on a hook in the bathroom. It probably is weird. He gathers his uniform into a pile and decides aloud, “I should feel weird.” There's a laundry hamper by the sink. He drops the days underclothes into it on his way out.

If he feels weird, it's not because he's making free with Goro's apartment.

Yuuki stows his own clothes in the bag he left by the door then rises and takes a couple of steps into the middle of the room. It's very quiet.

Now that he's stopped moving, stopped focusing in on points and tasks, he can abruptly see the whole, a sudden zoom out, taking in the silence, the empty space around him. It he doesn't move, nothing else will be disturbed. If he doesn't breath, the air will no longer stir.

It's a comfortable though. To dissolve into nothing, here and now – there are worse fates. Yuuki closes his eyes.

No one know where he is, right now. Goro is rarely home until later than this. Yuuki could kill himself with impunity and no one would know. Ages ago, Kurusu stopped him, and he thought he would never have another chance, but that was wrong. He has one, now.

And he'll get more, he thinks, as he moves at last back towards the bedroom. He's got a few things to finish, right now, but he will have other chances.

There are so many ways to die, in Tokyo. His will come up, soon enough.


	24. Yuuki, et al

On November 21st, Yuuki spends a long time sitting on his bed. He is fully dressed, legs folded in, and Ami-chan is nestled in the hollow they form, purring softly. He pets her without noticing, feels her plush undercoat and longer guard fur only in the moments she shifts. He holds his phone in his other hand. The Phan Site is open, auto-refreshing every fifteen seconds, and Yuuki is watching. Just watching.

There are trolls by the dozen. Flamewars are raging. His admin inbox is racking up more PMs every time the screen reloads. He hasn't read any of them; he can't read any of them. He can't so anything, right now, aside from sit here and pet his cat and wait for a resolution that isn't going to come.

He texted Kurusu, once he heard. How stupid is that? But he doubts he's the only one. How many 'hmu if ur still alive' messages have pinged into being on Kurusu's phone, by now? (Where is his phone? Do the cops have it? Does it matter?) Kurusu hasn't answered; Kurusu's dead.

 _Fucking hypocrite,_ Yuuki thinks. It's his only coherent thought, other than bald restatements of fact, and it's a fact, too. Kurusu is dead; Kurusu is a hypocrite. Was a hypocrite? Was. Yuuki hasn't got his tenses straight, yet.

He sees a subject line – _AKECHI-KUN WAS RIGHT_ – and hears the thump before he realizes he's thrown his phone. There's a fresh dent in the plaster of the far wall. Ami-chan grumbles and squirms.

“It's okay, baby,” he says. The words are automatic, involuntary. He can't hear himself, only the buzz of air displaced by his voice. “You're okay.” She settles, purring again. Yuuki swallows and keeps petting her.

“It's okay,” he says. “Everything is going to be fine.”

 

Moments that follow:

 

Mishima Kayoko, climbing the apartment stairs in the evening, thinking of which sake to serve with dinner. There is a piece of paper taped to her bedroom door. It's signed by her son and say, _Please take care of Ami-chan._

Kayoko feels very cold.

 

Futaba still has a tracker on Mishima. She never disabled the program, just stopped actively using it. When Ann texts her – just her – to say he's not in school, she opens it up, again. He's at home, or his phone is, which is weird in itself. He hasn't moved since yesterday, which is impossible.

“He got a new phone,” Futaba tells the air, because saying it aloud makes it so.

She activates the camera mode. The back lens it all dark; the front shows mostly flat surfaces, three panes joining near the edge of the shot.

 _Ceiling,_ she thinks.

There's a corner of a poster on one wall, the edge of shelf; his phone is on the floor. Her heart beats a little faster.

She calls him from her own number, cranks up his ringtone and calls again, but Yuuki doesn't appear. No one and nothing appears and Futaba feels her pulse pound hard and hot and, before any conclusion has consciously solidifed, she speaks to air, again, says, “Oh, please, no, no, no.”

 

Yuuki's seat is as empty as Kurusu's. Kawakami doesn't comment; she looks tired and pale. There are no whispers for him but eyes linger on it for longer. Kawakami's chalk snaps twice during the lesson. Two seats behind where Takamaki white-knuckles her cell phone under her desk, Tanaka Daiki counts beats, counts breaths and the pauses in between. He remembers standing still, broken nose still oozing, staggering when Yuuki's back hit his chest before they both hit the wall. He recalls holding Yuuki up as he gasped, winded by whatever final blow sent him falling, can still see the blood smeared on their coach's white athletic shoes, still feel Yuuki's half-limp in his clutching arms.

He remembers Yuuki's split lip, and how their blood got mostly on his shirt, but there was plenty left over to stain Yuuki's hands as he cleaned them both up in the nurse's office. It was thanks for hauling him down the stairs, he said, didn't say it was because, on that day, at least, his hands were steadiest.

Daiki leaves his seat during the break between classes and doesn't return.

 

In Shinjuku, it's afternoon and Cascade won't open for another couple of hours. Keisuke is smoking a cigarette outside a ramen shop, waiting while Tadami gets the carryout. They're planning to take it back to Keisuke's.

He's looking down at the feet of people passing by, hat pulled low to hide behind, and he's distracted, thinking of other things, so he reacts ahead of himself when the Shujin slacks come into view.

“Yuuki?” he says, looks up even as he realizes the shoes are all wrong, the cuffs not dragging on the street. The kid stops anyway, looks over with a face that's bloodless and blank.

“Ah,” Keisuke says. “Sorry, I thought – ”

“You know him?” The kid doesn't wait for a response. “Good. I'm Daiki.”

“Keisuke,” he replies, just as Tadami steps out beside him. He's saying something but the words die half-formed. Keisuke watches the kid look them both over, then nod.

“We should talk,” he says, then lets out a laugh that sounds like broken glass. “Since there's nothing else left for us to do.”

Keisuke meets Daiki's over-bright eyes, and then Tadami's, round with confusion. He drops his cigarette and grinds it out underfoot.

“Cascade's closed,” he says. “I've got keys.”

They move off down the street and Keisuke thinks that, even with the usual crowd around them, Shinjuku's never felt so empty.


	25. Goro, Kayoko

In December, Akechi Goro enters the Metaverse. The Phantom Thieves are there – he knows that, in the cursory way he knows most things, but thinks little of it. He knows, now, that they are a distraction from his true target, that he had strayed without realizing until the path was all but lost. He found his way back and he won't lose it again.

They meet as the Thieves are going down and he's coming up. They don't recognize him, at first – which makes sense, though he hadn't thought of it. The Akechi they have met is a prince dressed in white; knowing him to be a construction doesn't provide any insight into the jagged prisoner that is his true mask. It's Kurusu – of course it is – who first says, “Crow.” A statement, not a question.

Goro ignores it, holds a letter of introduction up for them to see.

“Time to pool our resources,” he says.

 

The Thieves let him come along; of course they do. They're idiots like that and their idiocy has (almost) always worked in his favor. This time he doesn't even have to lie.

“I had planned to be sole architect of my father's despair,” Goro tells him, once Kurusu has silenced Sakamoto's initial blast of rage, “but time is now of greater importance than style and this will go faster if we cooperate.”

He puts a bullet in his own reflection's skull, about then, and further discussion is postponed until the reach the nearest safe room.

“Shido destroyed my mother,” Goro tells them. “He's not going to get the chance to take anything else.”

“What do you mean 'anything else'?” Niijima asks him, eyes wary behind her mask. “You had no problem handing over the whole country to him. What is there to go after you'd actually care about?”

“Yuuki hasn't regained consciousness,” he tells them, and ignores the ripple of emotion that passes over the room. “I've been ordered to kill him if he does.” He blocks Skull's strike with his forearm. It hurts but doesn't falter and the pain is an acceptable exchange. In this form, his body is its own kind of weapon. Goro stares straight into the brain dead lunatics eyes as he says, “I would have to kill Shido in the physical word, if it came to that. The idea has its attractions, but a quick death is better than he deserves.”

Sakamoto is meeting his stare, too angry or too stupid to back down. None of the rest have moved.

“You expect us to believe that?” he snarls. “That you actually give enough of a fuck about him to change up your whole master plan at the last minute?”

“What you believe is none of my concern,” Goro snaps and Sakamoto makes a low sound of rage, arm and bat still crossed like swords.

It's Sakura who breaks in with a sharp, “Skull. He's telling the truth. We can prove it.”

Sakamoto doesn't relent but he doesn't argue.

“Skull,” says Kurusu – definitely Kurusu, as opposed to Joker. There's a clearer dividing line between the two than most of the others have. “We have their chat logs.”

Goro frowns. He doesn't think he's said anything to Yuuki that could be – evidence, he supposes – of true attachment. He was careful about it, skirting the line of what could pass for acceptable manipulation, should he ever be called to account; the Thieves weren't the first to tap his phone.

“What does that prove?” Sakamoto demands. “Like the piece of shit wouldn't lie his ass off to him?”

Goro, taking a moment to hate how closely their thoughts have aligned, hasn't looked away from Sakamoto. He misses whatever happens in the pause that follows.

Sakura speaks again.

“I didn't read through all of it,” she says. “There's a lot of it, and it's pretty boring.”

Sakamoto scowls more deeply. Goro can feel his own nose wrinkle in confusion and, absurdly, offense.

“Apologies,” he says. “I wasn't aware I was meant to be entertaining an audience.”

“Obviously,” says Sakura. “That's the tip-off.”

Goro's irritation spikes and he shoves Sakamoto off him. The imbecile curses and grunts when he hits the floor and Okumura drops to a crouch to help Morgana restrain him from lunging, again. Goro shakes out his arm and frowns over at Sakura, standing small and determined with Kurusu and Niijima at either shoulder. Her goggles are pushed up and she's looking right at him.

“You just talked to him,” she says. “I bet you don't even know how much.”

Goro's fists clench at his sides. “Where are you going with this?”

“I've been tracking all your calls and texts for over a month,” she says. “You don't 'just talk' to anyone.”

This pause it longer and it scrapes over Goro, leaves him with a chill like unwelcome eyes over exposed skin. He sets his jaw.

“By your own account,” he says, “I obviously do. Now, are we going to attack Shido or do we have to keep hug and learn time going a decade or two longer? I can feel my neurons degrading further for every second we stand here.”

This silence has the sole virtue of being short. It's broken by a snort and Goro flicks his glare towards Kurusu, finding Joker's smirk in his place. Around them, the other Thieves look, too, and Goro observes, not for the first time, how effortlessly this boy controls every room he walks into, becomes the heart of things with the merest beat. People orbit Kurusu whether they mean to or not, whether they want to or not, all the way down to Goro himself. All the way down to Yuuki.

Goro grits his teeth and, very deliberately, calls to mind a specific place on a specific day.

_“He wants to_ protect _me.”_ Yuuki sounded so disgusted, then. Maybe more than even he realized.

Goro meets Joker's eyes through both their masks.

_“And you don't need protecting.”_

_“No, I don't.”_

“Well?” he asks, and no one else says a word. It's in their leader's hands, now.

“Fox,” Joker says. “You're switching to reserve. I want Crow where I can keep an eye on him.”

“Mother of --”

Joker looks back to him, uncaring of Skull's vitriol. The smug piece of shit is still smirking. Crow meets his gaze head on and returns it, with all his teeth.

 

It's four days after the fall of Shido's nation-ship that Goro returns to the hospital. Goro has no illusions that he will be in for anything other than a very long prison sentence himself, as soon as the facts of the last three years are made clear, and he wishes he could spend what little time remains to him in the only truly congenial company he's yet come across.

Mishima-san is there when he arrives, tired and conflicted – her usual look. She's not a woman who was ever meant to be a mother, especially not to a child in need of quite so much care as the son she received, and she is, Goro knows, uncomfortably aware of her deficiency. He spoke with her Shadow about it and it dissolved of its own accord once it had finished blaming Yuuki for her entrapment. Goro's not sure he knew Shadows could do that.

She remains still and upright in her chair, hands folded in her lap, as Goro comes to stand at her shoulder. He folds his arms over his chest and rests his chin against the other hand, considering. Yuuki is fragile and pale against the sheets, bone china carefully packed against shattering. The bruise-like shadows under his eyes haven't faded and Goro has the urge to run his thumbs along them, test if the texture is same as the last time he held Yuuki's face in his hands.

“Akechi-kun,” Yuuki's mother says, as his eyes trace the paths his fingers once took across her son's skin.

“Mishima-san,” he replies. “Any news?” Her confirmation is slow in coming.

“Yes,” she says, when seven full seconds have passed. “They say he's passed out of the coma and into into natural sleep. Once he wakes, he'll make a full recovery. And, once he's able, we will discuss – further treatment.”

Her mouth flattens to a line, eyes fallen almost shut. The slightest wet glimmer shows between her eyelashes.

“You mean psychiatric treatment,” Goro says.

She nods. It looks like it takes all she has. Lightly, Goro touches her shoulder.

“I'll support him,” he says. “However I can.” It's not a lie. Goro won't be able to do much from juvenile detention but he's come to accept he'll do all of it for Yuuki. His eyes drift, again, over his slack face, his dry, cracked lips. “However he'll let me,” he adds, because he knows Yuuki won't.

Mishima-san nods, a distracted gesture, and looks at her lap, hands twisted up too tight. Abruptly, she stands.

“Thank you, Akechi-kun,” she says. “I'll see about some coffee.”

 

On the day of Shido's confession, Goro is in Shibuya. He's spent of lot of time here, of late – almost as much as he's spent with Mishima-san, watching over her as much as Yuuki himself. She has aged a decade in that room and Goro wonders what Yuuki will think when he sees her, if he'll recognize her at all.

When his phone rings, it's Kurusu. Of course it is.

“You saw?” he asks, when Goro answers.

“Of course,” says Goro. He knows it's a mere formality.

“What will you do now?” asks Kurusu and Goro smiles. So predictable, for all he's so completely inexplicable.

“Turn myself in,” he replies. “But not just yet.” He checks his watch. Shido will expose him for what he is within the hour. He'd like to get out ahead of it, if possible. Being hauled from his home in handcuffs would be gauche. “I've got one last piece of business to attend to.”

It's not possible to hear a person ruffle their own hair, but Goro has that sensation. It's an odd one.

“What's that?” Kurusu asks; he doesn't want to see Goro dragged kicking and screaming either. Goro smiles wider, eyes fixed on his father's ruined image, reflected in a thousand screens. It's everything he's ever wanted and he's not seeing it at all.

“I have to tell Yuuki it's safe to wake up,” he says.

He hangs up, then, a nod to the dramatic flare he's been so often accused of, lately, and flips over to the MetaNav. Kurusu's next call goes straight to voicemail as Goro plunges back into the Metaverse.

 

Kayoko is at her son's bedside, as she has been for most of the month, when a new visitor appears. It's been just her, for so much of this time, alone with her regret, or with the detective boy, colder and sharper than he'd ever been before.

There were a couple of others – a grim Shujin student with nothing to say to her had twice set up camp at Yuuki's bedside with a spiralbound notebook for all the hours he should have been at school. A dark-haired girl with a slow, halting walk had come three times, spoken politely with Kayoko and left moving yet more stiffly, as if being there were exhausting for body and mind. This girl also attempted suicide, as far back as April and Yuuki had been there, watching with the rest of school as she fell. Kayoko hadn't known that, before, and wonders if he had spoken politely with her parents in some other hospital room.

This is someone else – a boy with black hair, curling over his ears. He comes in in a hurry, barely seems to see Kayoko, looks at her son with eyes very wide behind thick-framed glasses. He doesn't move for several long seconds, just staring, and Kayoko wonders what he's expecting. She clears her throat.

A meow follows and a black cat darts up and out of the bag slung onto the boy's back, then ducks into hiding again. Ami-chan has been hunger-striking on and off and her fur falls away in clumps when Kayoko strokes her. In those moments, she imagines Yuuki's horror at the sight of her, how she'll yowl the first time he has to put her down.

“Are you a friend of my son's?” she asks. The boy is looking at her, now, eyes far too startled. He nods, awkward.

“I – yeah,” he says. “I'm Kurusu Akira.”

The name is familiar; Kayoko decides not to care.

“Mishima Kayoko,” she says, and stands. “I'll give you a moment.”

“No.” He shakes his head, now, firm. “I'm just here – Akechi sent me.”

Kayoko allows her eyebrows to raise, just a touch. She doesn't speak. Kurusu looks at Yuuki, again.

“He said that – I don't think he'll be back.”

Kayoko follows his gaze down to her only child's face. He's always been pale, like her. His eyes, a lighter brown, are her husband's. They're closed, still.

“I see,” she says.

A moment passes. Kurusu's shoes squeak against the linoleum.

“He really – ” Hesitation. “He cares about your son, I think. He cares about him a lot.”

Kayoko gives a soft 'hm' of agreement.

“Akechi doesn't care about many people,” he goes on, when she makes no more reply. “I honestly didn't think he cared about anyone. Not even himself. But Yuuki – ” Kayoko turns her head to see him, again. He's looking at Yuuki hard, like her son is a riddle he's determined to solve. A moment passes before he meets her eyes, again. “He's really something.”

Kayoko feels something cold and dead shift within her. She almost wants to smile.

_Defying all expectations,_ she thinks, hating herself a little. Then, aloud, “He is.”

Kurusu excuses himself. Kayoko watches him leave, makes eye contact with the cat peeking from his school bag. When she turns around, again, Yuuki's eyes are open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All we've got left is the epilogue.


	26. Epilogue

In the summer, Goro writes Yuuki a letter from juvenile detention. It's brief and to the point and it's total bullshit. Yuuki, being fucked up but not actually a dumbass, composes a haiku to this affect and sends it to him on a tacky postcard. The next day he sends his own letter and their correspondence begins.

Goro complains about the food, first and foremost, and the boredom second. His letters grow longer as time passes and sometimes he sends the next before Yuuki's reply arrives, so their letters cross in the mail, thoughts and plans and memories piled up and tangling before smoothing out, again.

Eventually, Goro tells Yuuki the story of Yaldaboath, as he learned it and remembers it; it begins 'once upon a time' and is told like a fable but Yuuki remembers Christmas Eve better than most of the city. Goro calls himself the Fool and Kurusu the World. A figured called Strength flickers at the edges of the tale and Yuuki finds himself awake at three in morning, researching tarot. He rereads Goro's story the next morning, slowly, and wonders when Goro thinks his card flipped upright, and why, if it had, he's still this week. He texts Futaba, asks if she knows much about it, because he doesn't have that many options when it comes to talking about this stuff.

**yea akira had some weird Thing about it**

**why did he tell ur arcana or smth**

**No but I think goro did**

He doesn't usually mention him to her but, well, she asked.

**damn him too**

**makes sense they had the same wild card deal goin**

**what was it**

**Strength**

**He said he was the fool and kurusus world**

**different than akiras**

**p sure strength was somebody else makes sense if arcana are who we are in their stories or w/e**

**i was the hermit**

**Shocking**

**rude**

Yuuki writes his own story, that night, about a Fool brought low by righteous Judgment and the Devil who took his hand.

It's almost three weeks before Goro writes, again, and the two letters arrive on the same day. The first critiques his prose and pacing, complains about the food and boredom, talks about a new detainee Goro's already had to defend himself again.

The other begins with the usual salutation and ends with the same old farewell but, in between, all it says is, 'I love you.'

He's so _fucking_ dramatic, Yuuki thinks, before he sits down on the kitchen floor and cries until his face is soaked and his nose is clogged and his eyes feel each fresh tear like another drop of acid. He hasn't cried since the last time they had sex, close to a year ago, now.

When Ami-chan slips in, he accepts her into his lap and doesn't move to stand when his mother follows her. He's not in the way, probably.

His mother must agree because she pauses only briefly before she begins to make dinner. Since December, she cooks more, meals for the two of them as his father makes the dinner party rounds alone, two or three nights a week. The parties they host are down to as many a month. It's quieter, now, and they can hear each other so much better.

She moves around the room, shuffling and clacking on the countertop while Yuuki pets his cat and, eventually, she says, “I see you got a letter from Akechi-kun.”

Yuuki 'hm's, threads his finger through thick fur.

“Two,” he says, at length. “Actually.” He doesn't look up; his mother doesn't make a sound. Ami-chan is purring, just loud enough to hear. “He says he loves me.”

There's another pause. His mother doesn't stop whatever she's doing on the counter.

“That's good,” she says, at last. “You ought to be loved.”

 

He meets up with Daiki, the next night, and they head for Cascade. It's no longer strange to see Daiki like this, relaxed as he ever is in jeans and a black hoodie. He's still most comfortable with anonymity and Yuuki's starting to think that he is, too. It scared the shit out of him when he heard some kids in Akihabara talking about the PhanSite, a month or so back.

They sit next to each other at the bar, close enough to give the wrong impression, and Keisuke serves them mocktails. Soon enough, Tadami slides onto the stool at Yuuki's other side and says, “What's got you all spaced out?”

Yuuki slides his eyes over. “I thought you were working, tonight.”

Keisuke drops off a beer for Tadami and keeps moving.

“New kid asked to swap shifts.” Tadami takes a drink, gives a sigh of satisfaction. “Who am I to refuse?” He wraps an arm around Yuuki, half a hug, and Yuuki knocks their temples together, softly. “You gonna answer my question, now?”

Yuuki shrugs.

Daiki, being a traitor, doesn't even look up from his phone as he says, “He's been like this all day. All pensive and non-verbal. It's better than sulking, which is what he was doing, but only just.”

“You're awful,” Yuuki says sadly.

“Uh-huh. You're only this moody when Akechi's involved, right? So, what's up? Or should I start _detecting_?”

He'd probably figure it out, too. Daiki's better at that shit than Goro ever was.

“Awful,” Yuuki repeats, and leans his elbows on the bar, eyes tracing the familiar shelves on the wall behind. Tadami's arm falls to drape across the back of his chair. Yuuki says, “He wrote to me.”

There's a pause before Daiki speaks, again, his tone edging towards exasperation only to those who know it best – to Yuuki, that is, and his brother and sister, and, lately, Tadami. “So? Doesn't he do that constantly?”

Tadami makes an interested sound. Yuuki ignores it.

“Not the last few weeks,” he says. “Then he sent two. I got them yesterday.”

“Why two?” Tadami asks.

Yuuki lifts a shoulder and drops it, an approximation of a shrug.

“I think I'm supposed to ignore one of them. Or not ignore it. I dunno. He's a weirdo.”

Daiki snorts.

“That's a dangerous stone for you to throw,” Tadami says. “Especially around here.”

“I mean, he's been here. It fits.”

Daiki makes the curious sound, this time.

“Irrelevant,” Tadami tells Yuuki, then leans to catch Daiki's eye over his head. “Constantly?” he asks.

“There's been one waiting every time I've gone to his place in the last six months. It's been all different days, so they're not on a schedule.” Daiki pauses a beat. “Here?”

“Keisuke was working,” Tadami says. “He tells it better.”

Yuuki is still staring at the shelves, face a little warmer than before.

“You're _both_ awful,” he decides, “and I don't like you at all.”

“Don't start flirting,” Tadami says. “You were _just_ talking about your boyfriend's love letters.”

Yuuki flushes as bright as he ever did with Goro between his legs and buries his face in his hands.

“Ugh,” says Tadami. “Are you seriously embarrassed _now_?”

“Shit,” says Daiki. “Is he _actually_ your boyfriend?”

Yuuki doesn't reply.

_“Ugh,”_ Tadami repeats, with a different emphasis.

“He's in _jail_ ,” Daiki says.

“Juvenile detention,” Yuuki corrects, automatic.

“That doesn't make it better!”

“Would anything?”

There's a pause.

“Fair point,” says Tadami, and drains his glass. Daiki sighs; Yuuki tells them about the letters; Daiki sighs, again, with a different emphasis.

“I don't know why you're surprised,” says Keisuke, as he puts another beer in front of Tadami. “He's been doing this for – a year and a half?”

“I was hoping it was just a weird sex thing,” Daiki says.

Yuuki frowns but is self-aware enough to admit, “It was.”

“But now there are _feelings_ ,” says Tadami.

“There were always feelings,” Yuuki tells them. “Weird ones.”

The other three consider this.

“Hm,” says Keisuke. “That tracks. What now?”

Yuuki frowns down at his glass, still half-full of juice and seltzer.

“I write back,” he says. “What else?”

 

It's two years later and Yuuki is in college, swinging by Cascade after having dinner with his mother; that's still surreal to him, having dinner out with his mother, but it's a weekly thing since he moved out of their home and into the apartment he shares with Daiki and a couple of the baby drag queens they met through Tadami. It's cramped but he's not sorry to be there any more than his father was to see the back of him. He knows that, on the family shame scale, he managed to drop from 'unsightly' to 'unspeakable' in the time it took him to decide he cared more about how Goro's hands felt on his skin than he did about social respectability.

Being functionally disowned is freeing. His mom is still paying school expenses but the rest is down to the money he makes at Crossroads, where Ohya still hangs out, though she's a little more sober than she was. Yuuki himself is mostly okay with being alive, most days, which was a sentence he never thought he would have cause to say until his nineteenth birthday and his friends toasted him rather than freaking out.

That, he thinks, is what's really freeing. Having people who don't expect him to be okay, who let him get on with it when he's not. Who want him around even when he's a fuck-up.

Got emancipation?

Yeah, it's discharge from the psych ward.

It's been a couple of weeks since he heard from Goro. Yuuki's trying not to think about it but, sliding through the crowd on Cascade's lower level, it's inevitable. He figures the radio silence means Goro didn't make parole and he's busy sulking over it, or maybe working himself up over how to break the news. He's kind of expecting another two-letter special, which he isn't looking forward to. The first one, when he was seventeen and more of a wreck, was shattering in a way he still doesn't have the words for and Goro's dramatics haven't gotten less effective over time.

Yuuki makes it over to the bar and finds all the stools full up, of course. He leans between a couple of turned backs, lifts up on his toes to catch a bartender's eye. Keisuke doesn't work Wednesdays but the girl he's been training – Aiko – sees Yuuki over the draft she's drawing and shoots a sharp nod: _Message received_. Yuuki nods back in thanks and relaxes down, again, elbow still braced on the bar, holding his space clear. He notices, as he does, that Aiko's dyed her hair, again, and this color is much better than the last – ruby red rather than tomato. The jewel tone suits her. 

His gaze is wandering over the crowd, idly casting around for familiar faces, when hands land on his waist. He jerks his eyes to the mirrored wall across the bar, opening his mouth to shout at whatever shitstain still has the gall to think he's an easy mark and his heart

stands

still.

Words die unspoken and Yuuki's not sure why he's breathless, why his heart has stopped beating, why everything is so far away and quiet; shock is rolling in faster than realization. And then

he says,

“Oh.”

His heart starts up, again, triple time, circulation roaring in his ears, and he twists in Goro's grasp to clutch his shirtfront, stare him in the eye. He swallows hard, mouth dry. Goro's hands are still on him; if they weren't, he might lose it completely.

“I'm going to kiss you, now,” Yuuki tells him. “Okay?”

Goro nods once. His throat works his own heavy swallow.

“Sure,” he says, and Yuuki drags him down.

Yuuki's back is digging into the bar, or maybe the other way around, and it's the only thing keeping him upright as their mouths collide and electricity courses from his lips outward, scalp prickling, shiver following his spine. Goro's arms fit themselves around him, nestled just so in the dip of his waist, and Yuuki'd already gone weak but now he _melts_ , sighing welcome into Goro's mouth as his lips part, inviting him deeper, straight up moaning when he takes the offer.

Goro breaks the kiss with a gasp and they stand there, holding each other, breathing the same air, until a voice breaks through to them from behind the bar.

“So, uh, Mishima-kun. You know this guy?”

Yuuki has the pleasure of watching Goro turn suddenly and completely red from about three inches away. He snorts once and then, feeling just a little bit hysterical, cracks the fuck up and buries himself in Goro's neck. Goro hugs him tight, like an instinct he can't control, and clears his throat.

“We've met,” he replies, on Yuuki's behalf.

“Uh-huh,” Yuuki hears Aiko say. “So, the usual. Or something festive? I'm getting a celebratory vibe.”

Yuuki cackles softly. Goro gives his hip a squeeze and says, “Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I'll be removing him, now.”

At that, Yuuki lifts his head to look Goro in the face, again. Three years and he's still that hot. Unfair.

“Do you have someplace to remove me to?” he asks. “Because I have three roommates and probably can't sexile all of them for as long as this is going to take.”

Yeah, Yuuki is definitely hysterical. Luckily, it seems like Goro is, too.

“Where do you think I've _been_ for the last two weeks?” he asks.

“Sulking,” Yuuki replies, “was my first bet.”

Goro's hand is trembling as it rises to cup his cheek. Yuuki reaches up to hold it and their fingers interlock.

“You're terrible,” Goro tells him, breathless again. Their foreheads touch. “I love you so much.”

Yuuki kisses him hard before he has a chance to get embarrassed, and says, “I love you, too,” loud enough that anyone who cares to know can hear.

“I have a futon,” Goro says, “in what may well be the shittiest apartment in the city.”

“Sounds perfect,” Yuuki says, and follows him out, into the street, into the night, into the place where their lives intersect, again, years after both might have ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done. You can take it, now. I've been fighting with it every step of the way and have lost all perspective. I try not to ask for comments but please tell me if you don't think it sucked. I would like that.


End file.
